


Knowing which way to fall

by kostia



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - High School, Bad Puns, Best Friends Stevie Budd & David Rose, Coming Out, David Rose Loves Patrick Brewer, David Rose is a Good Person, David Rose is a Nice Person, Dead hamsters, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, High School, M/M, Meeting the Parents, New in Town, Patrick Brewer is Gay, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, School Dances, Texting, like seriously REALLY bad puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27933370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kostia/pseuds/kostia
Summary: What if the Roses lost their money when David and Alexis were kids, and instead of meeting Rachel in high school (or ever), Patrick met David?
Relationships: Alexis Rose & David Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose, Theodore "Ted" Mullens/Alexis Rose
Comments: 30
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m American, and I set this in Canada. I apologize if I got any terminology or slang wrong. If you let me know, I can fix it. Ontario’s Grade 13/OAC would have existed when David and Alexis were in high school in a real timeline, but it doesn’t anymore, so I’ve ignored its existence here. The music is similarly divorced from a realistic timeline. This just takes place in a nebulous "now." Much like the show.
> 
> This is mostly written and will probably be about ten chapters. I'm posting two chapters today, and then I'll add a chapter every few days until we're done. The title comes from chapter 3. You'll see.
> 
> In case it isn’t clear from dialogue/context, I made David and Patrick the same age. I imagine David, Stevie, Patrick, and Mutt in grade 12, Ted and Twyla in grade 11, and Alexis in grade 9 (but maybe a year older than her classmates; please try not to think of her as inappropriately young for Ted, and they don’t do anything inappropriate anyway). I also put David’s birthday during the school year, even though the show makes it look like it’s in the summer.
> 
> Lastly, there are places where it is obvious that I lifted dialogue directly from the show. If you have as many of these scenes memorized as I do, it may feel jarring where I’ve edited the phrasing or word choice. Sometimes the original words just didn’t feel right coming out of the mouths of teenagers.

David had lived in Schitt’s Creek for two years, since the eighty-sixth day of grade ten. He’d been counting days ever since. Especially now that he had his plans for university, and no room in his heart for a plan B. The day was coming when he could leave for NYU, the day when he could escape to a shadow of his old life. He knew it wouldn’t be the same, but it would be _something_. Schitt’s Creek was _not something._

He had made one friend and several acquaintances. The girl he’d dated that first summer, Stevie Budd, was the only person who came anywhere near understanding him. He couldn’t believe she’d spent her whole life in this town and not become horribly dull. _Thank god_ Stevie still had her sharp edges. They’d been laughably unsuccessful as a couple—emotionally, anyway. Physically, well, her family owned the motel, so that had happened fast and hadn’t been terrible at all.

David had mostly crushed on guys before the move, but Stevie had helped him realize that he cared a lot more about the inside of a sandwich than what kind of bread it was on, a metaphor no one else seemed to understand. They had admitted to being each other’s best friend through a bathroom door while taking turns dealing with the aftermath of curry from a takeout place one town over. A solemn vow had been made to never mention the curry again, but the friendship had lasted.

Stevie didn’t seem to have any other friends, but she knew literally everyone. Twyla, who worked at the café and seemed to be related to everyone. Ted, a year behind them, who volunteered at the animal shelter and looked like a magazine ad. Mutt, whose mom Mrs. Schitt was their history teacher and whose grandfather was the mayor. And so on.

Ted cornered David in the hallway between classes on the thirty-fifth day of grade twelve, when there were one hundred fifty-nine days to go before he could graduate and flee to New York.

“Hey David? I was wondering if you’re going to the dance that’s coming up in a couple weeks?”

Ted was extremely cute, but he radiated a sort of innocence David knew would set him on fire if he got anywhere near it, like a demon walking into a church. And Ted seemed to love puns. Really terrible puns. About animals, mostly.

“Listen, Stevie and I usually just go with a group of people—”

“Oh, yeah, I know, I went with you guys last spring, so I figured that would be the plan again. I just wanted to know if it would be okay if I asked your sister along.”

“My sister? My sister _Alexis_ my sister? My sister is in _grade nine._ ”

“So? I’m in grade eleven, she can come if I invite her.”

“You actually want to, like, date her?”

“Well, yeah. She makes me laugh. She’s like a cow— _a-moo-sing!_ ”

David was so stunned by this comment that he let the pun go. “Alexis isn’t funny.”

Ted cocked his head to the side. “Really? Maybe you’re just used to her? The other day she pretended not to know my name, even though I know she knows it, and when she started at this school, when I offered to show her around, she said her sense of direction was really good because in Thailand one time she and her friend Lotus crossed three international borders without anyone even noticing—”

David rolled his eyes. He hoped Alexis hadn’t told the whole Lotus story. “That’s not a joke, unfortunately.”

“Ha, yeah, right! See, she’s funny _and_ you’re funny. You’re such a funny family. It should be like a sick bird— _ill-eagle!_ ”

Jesus Christ. Alexis always had been into looks more than brains. David had to get out of this conversation.

“The … the more the merrier, I guess? It isn’t up to me anyway. I don’t … I’m not in charge of her, why should I care?”

“Thanks, David. I really—”

“Get her home by eleven!”

In the afternoon of the forty-third day of grade twelve, a new student appeared. Mr. Butani, the guidance counselor, led him into David’s economics class and announced that this was a person named Patrick Brewer.

The person named Patrick Brewer was wearing the nerd uniform of a tucked-in button-down shirt—blue, of course—and khakis, with an actual belt, and ridiculous shoes that looked like he was headed to a hike after school. The person named Patrick Brewer half-waved to the class and said some things about where he was from, or something. Something about sports may have come up.

David heard approximately none of the words. David was thinking almost immediately about _sandwiches._ About bread. About _white bread,_ specifically, and how it looked boring but was still sometimes exactly the right kind of bread. But it all depended on what was inside the sandwich.

After class several of the other students, including Ronnie Lee, who played on the small school’s necessarily co-ed baseball team, surrounded the person named Patrick Brewer outside the room, so David didn’t get a chance to get any closer.

But then the person named Patrick Brewer was in David’s next class, and the one after that. On the forty-fourth day of grade twelve, it became clear that this person was in _all_ of David’s classes, including, bizarrely, _family sciences_ (which was what they called home economics at this school and which David had chosen as an elective hoping he’d get access to sewing machines and which he regretted choosing every day), and that this coincidence had not gone unnoticed.

After home ec ended, Patrick caught David’s eye and waved a little.

“Hi. I’m Patrick.”

“Yeah, I was there when Butani introduced you. I’m David.”

“I know. David Rose. Your dad started Rose Video.”

_Oh, no._

“Yeah, that’s right. Long time ago, really.”

“My uncle used to work at a Rose Video. He said he thought your dad was a really good person to work for. He gave my dad your dad’s book, and then my dad made me read it when I said I was interested in going to business school.”

“My dad would be happy to give you seventeen signed copies of that book. He has tons.”

Patrick laughed.

“I didn’t actually get your attention to talk about your dad. Sorry. I wanted to talk to _you._ ”

_Oh._

“About anything in particular?”

“Well, we both have the same class schedule, including home ec, which is really strange. I only took it so I could maybe learn to cook something? I’m probably going to be living far away next year, and my mom says I need to be able to make something edible so I don’t starve to death.”

“Where are you going to university?”

“I applied to a few places, but honestly I’m thinking pretty seriously about NYU.”

_Oh._

On the fifty-fifth day of grade twelve, after two weeks of walking to classes with Patrick, eating lunches with Patrick sitting at their table, occasionally hanging out before and after school with Patrick joining their group, David decided he had to take a shot. “A group of us are going to the dance on Friday. You’re new, you might not have known it was happening, but we always go to them … for some reason … anyway, you’re welcome to join us if you wanted? We just meet up by the drinks table and complain until a good song comes on, then we all dance together until a bad song comes on. And, you know, repeat.”

Patrick smiled.

_Oh, yes._

“Love to.”


	2. Chapter 2

The dance was in full swing when David arrived fashionably late. He looked around for Stevie, halfway hoping she wouldn’t be there, but he quickly found her talking with Twyla near the refreshment table, where cases of pop were losing the battle for space to piles of empty cans.

Ted and Alexis were dancing to something horrible David didn’t recognize. Mostly just a drum machine and a bass line that repeated far too often. Not for the first time, David wished for an Eighties Diva mood to overtake the bored-looking DJ.

Mrs. Schitt was hovering around the edges of the dance floor, half of her looking like she wanted to be out there singing along to what passed for lyrics and jumping up and down. One time on a theme day she’d worn a Poison t-shirt to school, so she definitely had a past, but tonight she was in what she probably thought was a casual and charming floral sweater and what David correctly thought was an abomination.

The other half of Mrs. Schitt was apparently devoted to making sure everyone’s hands were staying between the appropriate latitudes. In the time it took David to walk over to Stevie, he saw Mrs. Schitt tap more than one couple on their shoulders with a slightly scandalized look on her face.

As he walked up to the drinks table, hoping for a Diet Coke and knowing he’d find only warm Big 8 and ginger ale, Stevie spotted him and pretended to give him air kisses.

“Bebe, you’ve arrived, so expeditiously, as is your wont.”

“Hi, Mom,” answered David. For some reason, his mother amused Stevie no end, and this was a bit she’d started doing that he couldn’t seem to break her of.

“You didn’t tell me you’d invited a _date,_ David.”

This was an outright falsehood.

“I didn’t invite a date, Stevie.”

“You invited the new guy. He showed up exactly on time. You’re being pretty rude coming late.”

“I told him we were all going as a group. He just started here the day before yesterday. It never occurred to me he’d want to be, like, the first one to a dance.”

“He wasn’t the first one here. I was.”

“Why the _hell_ were you the first one here?”

“Mrs. Schitt happened to be at the motel around dinnertime and offered me a ride. I would have had to walk otherwise. I hate walking.”

This was completely true.

“David! Yo! You’re here!”

Patrick came up behind him and clapped him on the back in a very jock-like manner. David winced a tiny bit and had an extremely efficient wordless conversation with Stevie in the second before he turned around and smiled at Patrick.

_Fuck. He said “yo.” I knew it. I knew he was straight._

_Yeah, seems that way. I’m sorry. He definitely had potential._

“I am here. Sorry I didn’t tell you we usually show up a little late.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine. Stevie was here, and then Twyla was here—hi, Twyla—and then your sister was here with, um, the guy with the puns—”

“Ted Mullens,” they all filled in.

“Yes. Ted. Anyway, I hadn’t met your little sister yet, David. She is … really something. Did you know her first school dance was in Cambodia, and she got a tattoo of the DJ’s initials on a dare, and then the tattoo actually turned out to be the word _penis_ in Khmer?”

David winced, too embarrassed for Alexis to be impressed that Patrick knew what language they spoke in Cambodia. “I did, in fact, know that. It would be great, if you ever meet our parents, if you did not, in fact, mention that.”

Patrick laughed. “I have no plans of mentioning it when I meet your parents.”

Stevie and Twyla had come around the table, and Stevie nudged David’s shoulder with a silent but very clear message of _when he meets your parents, not if_ that David pretended to miss.

The song ended, if it could be called a song, and something else started up. David practically moaned in relief. _Mariah._

“I love this one,” he said. Let’s go dance.”

They were all sort of in a circle, with Ted and Alexis coupled off, and David dancing simultaneously with Stevie and Patrick. Mutt had come up behind Twyla, and she appeared to be absolutely into it. Mrs. Schitt kept averting her eyes, even though Mutt and Twyla were definitely grinding in a way she’d scolded other people for. David figured that parents just had different standards for their own kids than for other people. He could certainly understand _that._

As the song reached the second chorus, Stevie gave David a look that clearly said _I’m going to try something._ She went around behind Patrick and draped her arm across the back of his shoulders. Then she pressed into David’s side, and before he knew it she was gone and he was facing Patrick, and they were dancing together as Mariah sang about her boyfriend. He owed Stevie something big. Stevie was _magic._

_Please let there be another good song._

_Please let there be another good song._

_Please—_

As the opening notes of Pink’s _Trouble_ came up, David thanked whatever fairy godperson was clearly watching over him. He moved closer to Patrick just as Patrick moved closer to him, and when the song was still building, there was a moment when Patrick’s hands were on his waist and there was almost no space between them, and they were the only two people in the world.

But then the chorus hit, the beat dropped, their arms dropped, and it was just a jumping-up-and-down song. Alexis came bopping obliviously closer. “David, oh my _god,_ do you remember when Pink played my eleventh birthday party, and my friends dressed up as wild west saloon girls and we had so much fun?”

Ted, who was right next to her, of course, laughed. “Alexis, your stories are amazing. ‘Remember when Pink played my party,’ wow, like just another day at the _paw-ffice!_ ”

Alexis bopped Ted on the nose, giggled, and led him bouncily away.

“It’s a shame someone so hot has such a bizarrely non-hot sense of humor,” muttered Patrick, looking after the retreating Ted.

David’s eyes widened, and he searched the area for Stevie, hoping she was close enough to have heard that. She was.

_Did he just say Ted was hot?_

_Ted_ IS _hot, but yes. YES, HE DID._

The next song was a slow one, and David was ready to leave the dance floor, but Patrick had hold of his hand. “Come on, one more?” he said.

David knew he already had a reputation in Schitt’s Creek and didn’t really want to be _those two guys at the dance,_ but Twyla and Mutt seemed to be glued together and were drawing everyone’s attention, so he stayed where he was and hesitatingly placed his arms on Patrick’s shoulders. Patrick put his hands back on David’s waist, which David was starting to think was where they belonged. And they kept several inches between them as they swayed to … whatever song this was. It didn’t matter.

It was no song and every song. It was every moment he’d ever wanted with every straight guy he’d ever crushed on. It was every moment he’d ever wanted with the girls who wanted to date the richest boy in grade nine but hated the only out gay boy in grade nine. He’d never succeeded in explaining to them that he wasn’t gay. Kids were idiots.

Suddenly the lights flickered and went out for a split second. The music stopped, a terrible song from fifteen minutes earlier started playing again, and every teenager in the room laughed a sort of nervous _what the fuck was that_ sort of giggle.

Except Ted, who loudly said something about the school’s electrician not having the proper _koala-fications._ Unbelievable.

Mrs. Schitt and Mr. Butani got up on the stage, had the DJ stop the music, and told everyone it was probably nothing, but the rules were that they couldn’t have kids in the school building when there was a chance of an electrical problem, or something like that, and the dance ended early.

David looked at Patrick and thought, _well, I’ll live on that for months, but come Monday we’ll just be classmates again._

Patrick looked at David and said, “What are you doing Saturday? Let me give you my number.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I a little bit hate myself for doing this, but here is what the word _penis_ looks like in Khmer:


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screw it, I can't wait a "few days" between chapters to post. I'm too excited about this. It's going too well. Enjoy!

On Saturdays, David usually just hung around at the motel with Stevie. Her aunt paid her to help change the rooms over on the weekends, and sometimes she found things people had left behind. Sometimes she found valuable things they had to give back, like jewelry or cell phones, but sometimes she found a t-shirt one of them fit into, or something even better.

This Saturday was an _even better_ Saturday. Stevie had found a joint.

“I found this under the bed in room two, so … do you want to take a break?”

“That’s disgusting. And yes. Yeah.”

So when he picked up his phone later and called Patrick to try to make plans for that evening, it should not have been surprising that leaving a voicemail didn’t go perfectly.

“Hi, David, it’s Patrick,” was how David started, and “ciao” was how he ended.

He called back. Why was he not texting? _Drugs are so unbelievably bad for your brain,_ he thought, but he didn’t hang up.

“That’s not your name. You can just delete that voicemail that I left you.”

 _No wonder so many people my age are clinically depressed,_ he thought. _We are morons._

Patrick Brewer  
  
**Today** 1:15 PM  
Patrick, this is David ;)  
  
**Today** 1:17 PM  
HI  
  
I mean, hi  
  
caps lock?  
  
stoned  
  
I mean, yes  
  


_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

David started to switch over to Spotify to plan a playlist for his own funeral. Patrick played baseball, probably. Patrick wore belts and button-down shirts to school. Patrick was not going to be interested in some burnout stoner guy. Patrick probably now considered David one step above a candy raver with a pacifier necklace and an asymmetrical haircut.

Patrick Brewer  
  
**Today** 1:21 PM  
well that definitely explains the voicemails  
  
the many, many voicemails  
  
please tell me you didn’t listen to all of them  
  
okay, I didn’t listen to all of them  
  
yes you did  
  
of course I did, but you said to say I didn’t  
  
**Today** 1:28 PM  
you still there? I honestly don’t care if you and I assume stevie were getting high, I was just a little surprised  
  
it doesn’t happen a lot, she found a joint cleaning at the hotel and we smoked it, we are adolescents with underformed decision making capabilities, I promise I can usually control what I type  
  
and say  
  
and do  
  
this is the worst birthday eve ever  
  
TOMORROW IS YOUR BIRTHDAY?!  
  


Unbelievable. David Rose was an unstoppable dingbat, and one of a very few interesting people ever to set foot in this town was about to stop wanting to talk to him ever.

Patrick Brewer  
  
**Today** 1:33 PM  
yes  
  
happy birthday eve! how old are you gonna be?  
  
are you kidding me  
  
sorry, yeah, sorry, we’re in the same grade, I guess I know  
  
yeah  
  
do you have plans with your folks? if not we could go for a birthday dinner  
  
you don’t have to do that  
  
I’d like to  
  
8:00 at the cafe?  
  
okay  
  


David walked into the café at four minutes after eight. He’d been on the sidewalk around the corner for seven minutes, and he’d seen Patrick arrive right on time, but he couldn’t bring himself to go in. Maybe he’d get to be an on-time type person if he spent more time with Patrick. He couldn’t decide if an on-time type person was something he wanted to be.

Patrick was sitting in one of the booths, and waved to David as though the place was packed and he’d need to make it easier to find him. It was endearing. David was doomed.

“You look very nice,” David said. Patrick was wearing a blazer.

“Well, you know, my dad always said to dress for the dinner you want.” Patrick blushed. “That’s a ridiculous business joke. The saying is dress for the—”

“The job you want. I know. I think we might have very similar dads.”

“It’s because he read your dad’s book. Your dad invented my dad.”

“Do not make it sound like we’re related.”

Stevie arrived just as Patrick was about to say something in response to that. “Sorry, sorry, I’m late. Is everybody here or are other people coming?”

“No, uh, this is it,” said David, at the same time Patrick said, “I don’t know.”

“I’m widely popular,” David told Patrick. “Some might even venture to call me beloved.”

“Well, hi, Stevie. If I'd known you were coming I would have had them set three places, but … I’m just gonna hit the restroom real quick and then I’ll come back.”

Patrick was scarcely around the corner when Stevie took his seat, her eyes like saucers.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because I think I’m crashing a date.”

“No way. It’s just my birthday and my family fucking _forgot,_ and he’s a nice person—”

“A nice person who is one hundred percent on a date with you right now.”

Patrick came back, looking a little pink, and Stevie took the opportunity to flee. David tried to stop her with his eyes, but she wouldn’t actually look at him except to give a thumbs-up where Patrick couldn’t see.

They ordered mozzarella sticks, which were atrocious, and they ate them all and talked until Twyla had to kick them out to start closing the café.

Patrick had his mom’s car, so he drove David home. He’d apparently heard where the Roses lived, because he didn’t have to ask, and when he stopped the car in front of the motel he looked at David shyly. The temperature in the car seemed high, and there was a strange feeling in the air, like right before a storm, when the hair on your arms stands up and you feel like you might be able to fly if you could just figure out which direction to fall.

“Well, that was a fun night,” David said, trying to shake that feeling.

“I’m really glad I danced with you the other night,” said Patrick.

And David realized Patrick wasn’t looking at his eyes. He was looking at his mouth. Just for a second, but it was long enough for David to realize he wasn’t quite looking at Patrick’s eyes either. It may only have been his eighteenth birthday, and he felt like something very new was happening, but this? He knew this. He had been here before. And just as Patrick started to hesitantly lean toward him, David closed the rest of the distance.

Kissing Patrick was entirely new. David had been the brief amusement of several people, all older than him, who’d come to his parents’ parties at Rose Manor. He’d been kissed before, by a variety of people and in a variety of ways. A variety of places. Some nice, some regrettable, most forgettable, most others he wished he could forget.

But this was different. This was knowing which way to fall when the electricity in the air takes hold of your skin, letting the wind pick up so it feels like it’s blowing from inside you, and simply flying.

It was only a few seconds, but it changed his life. It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed someone, but it was absolutely his first _first kiss._

“Thank you,” came the soft words from the driver’s seat.

“For what?”

“I’ve … I’ve never done that before. With a guy.”

David was simultaneously surprised and not surprised at all. He didn’t know what to say, so he just went with what he hoped was acceptance.

“Okay.”

“Yeah,” said Patrick, smiling. “And I was getting a little scared that it would be like Friday night, and I’d let you leave without doing that. So thank you for doing that. For us.”

David could not handle this. This was too much. He wanted more.

“Well, um, fortunately I’m a very generous person.”

“Talk to you at school tomorrow?”

“We have all the same classes. We can talk whenever you want.”

“Good night, David.”

David got out and closed the door behind him. He leaned in the window and tried to look happy, but not too happy. He thought he probably failed, considering he felt like he was glowing.

“Good night, Patrick.”


	4. Chapter 4

Monday morning, getting up and getting ready and getting to school on time seemed like a list of impossible tasks. David wanted to stay in his little twin bed in the motel room, where there was no aftermath, where it was still _the night I kissed Patrick_ and it would never not be.

But someone was banging on the door, and when it opened it was not anyone he had any reason to expect. It was Stevie.

“There’s a dead guy in room four.”

Thankfully, the dead guy in room four was not, in fact, murdered by television’s Moira Rose, and thankfully, it was Stevie’s family’s problem and, David supposed, his dad’s problem, and not in any way his problem. They had to give up their room for the night, which was a problem. He did not need another problem.

But on the walk to school, Alexis got it out of him somehow that he’d kissed Patrick, and she was very annoying about it.

“Like, he _wanted_ that?”

“Yes.”

“Like, he _told you_ that he wanted that?”

“Fall off a bridge, please.”

“You gave me such shit for going out with Ted, and then you just french the new kid literally the second you’re alone.”

“A bridge, Alexis. Find a _bridge._ ”

“Where are we supposed to sleep tonight? I do _not_ want to share a room with Mom and Dad.”

“I’m going to ask if I can sleep over with someone. You can sleep under that _bridge_.”

When he walked into his first-period English class, Patrick and Stevie waved from the far corner of the room. This class was seated alphabetically, so the two of them got to be right next to each other, while David was exiled to sit with Lucas Roberts, who always sounded like he could only breathe through one nostril. It had always been annoying, but now that his best friend had better company, it was _not correct._

So he had to wait almost forty-five minutes before he could even say hello to Patrick, let alone tell Patrick that there’d been a dead guy in room four, because of course Patrick would already know there’d been a dead guy, because of course Stevie was the first one who’d known about the dead guy in the first place.

But the dead guy wasn’t important, because he had the _whole day_ with Patrick, to walk to their classes together, to eat lunch together, to maybe make out in the bathroom or behind the building—

“I’ve been up since five,” Patrick said quietly. “I could not sleep thinking about last night.”

_Oh, no._

“Regrets?”

“What? No! Why would I have regrets?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just—”

“No. No, no, no. No regrets. I feel good. I feel like, like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I mean, it’s a lot to, like, process, but…”

David made sure no one was in earshot, then asked, “Can I sleep over at your house tonight?”

Patrick was visibly stunned. “What…? David, we gotta take this a _lot_ slower than you sleeping over with me tonight. Plus there is no way my mom would possibly—”

“There’s a dead guy at the motel and it’s sold out and they need my room—”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah. Stevie told me. Oh, my god, David, you must think I’m … wait, listen—”

“No, _you_ listen,” David interrupted. “Sorry, that came off harsher than I meant. I don’t mean sleep over _with you,_ I meant _sleep over,_ because I live in a motel, and there was a dead guy, and they have to, like, bleach his room, so they have to use mine and Alexis’s room for actual _people._ I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry for thinking you wanted to sleep over to, like, _sleep over._ ”

“No, totally about the dead body.”

There was a pause, during which David felt like both of them were trying to figure out how to press the reset button on this extremely strange conversation. If he never had to say the words _dead guy in room four_ again in his life, that would be completely okay.

Patrick looked around, and David realized the hallway was empty. They must not have heard the bell.

“Shit. We need to get to class.”

They sat through second period, which at least let them sit wherever they wanted, so they got to feel like they were together. The class was French, and it was about irregular verbs that day. David did not learn a lot of irregular French verbs that day.

After French, Patrick put his hand on David’s shoulder and steered him toward a dead-end hallway. He looked around to make sure no one else was in the area before running his hand down David’s arm and taking his hand.

“You know, when you kissed me, that felt like my first kiss. All the things you’re supposed to feel, I felt them last night.”

_Oh, yes._

“Well, it felt like my first kiss too. I mean, it’s not, I’ve kissed like a dozen people, but nobody that I … really liked or, like, that I thought was nice.”

“Thank you, David. And I really like you too, and I think you’re a cool person.”

“I said nice person.”

“I know.”

“I’m not a nice person?”

“You’re a cool person.”

“Now you’re not being nice.”

And Patrick’s hands were on his waist again, and David’s arms just sort of _fit_ on Patrick’s shoulders, and Patrick was kissing _him_ this time, and it was only a second, because they were in the hallway at school and it was completely terrifyingly dangerous, but it was just as good. Maybe better.

After school later that week—on the fifty-eighth day of grade twelve, not that David was still counting—Alexis had a meeting for something. A club, maybe. David had stopped paying attention halfway through her sentence, because all he could hear was “you’ll have the room to yourself for an hour or so” followed by something Alexis had always done that she thought was a wink.

He’d have the room to himself for an hour or so. _They’d_ have the room to _themselves._

So he passed Patrick a note in their last class of the day, and when they got out they made it across town in no time flat.

And as soon as they were through the door, David found himself backed up against it, with Patrick’s breath on his neck, Patrick’s hands on his hips, Patrick’s thumbs under the hem of his sweater. It was all Patrick and it was all just very, very correct.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you again for ages. Why is it so hard to be alone? How long until Alexis gets back here? Are your parents going to walk in?”

“No one’s going to walk in. This place doesn’t even _have_ do-not-disturb signs, but the clientele are not exactly mixers and minglers.”

“God, the way you talk. Do you even hear yourself sometimes? You make me kind of crazy.”

“I’ll say anything you want if you’ll just maybe—”

“This?” Patrick moved his hands a little.

“Oh, god, yes, maybe that.”


	5. Chapter 5

David and Stevie were sitting on the hood of her terrible little car, which didn’t start two-thirds of the time and didn’t start on the first try the rest of the time. They were parked next to an open field, just watching the sun go down. It was something they did sometimes, but it had been a while, and it was that rare November day when it wasn't too cold to sit outside for a bit.

“How’s it going with Patrick?”

“Do you actually care?”

“A little, I guess.” Stevie shrugged dramatically and pretended she wasn’t invested. “Maybe.”

David paused for a long moment before answering, trying to decide whether to be honest. He decided he wouldn’t be able to lie if he tried. “It’s amazing with Patrick,” he started. “I don’t know how to explain it. He’s unbelievable. He’s so warm, and he’s got these great hands—”

“Ugh, no details, please. Does he know you’re going to New York next year?”

“Stevie, _I_ don’t even know if I’m really going to New York next year. But, um …”

“What? Are you avoiding telling him?”

“I just want to know for sure first? I don’t know. He actually said NYU was one of the schools _he_ was trying to get into.”

“So you could be in New York together next year.”

“I’ve only been going out with him for like a week? Don’t plan our entire future.”

“David?”

“Yeah?”

She turned towards him, and her eyes said _I’m being serious. Don’t ruin it._

“I like this for you.”

David’s mom had a morning meeting with the town council, so she dropped him off at school on what David was pretty sure was the sixty-second day of grade twelve. Since he’d been spending time with Patrick, his count was a little off. He was fairly certain there were a hundred and thirty-two school days left before he graduated and could leave Schitt’s Creek. But the feeling of _wanting_ to leave Schitt’s Creek, of _needing_ to leave Schitt’s Creek, wasn’t quite as sharp as it had been.

The idea of going to NYU, maybe going to NYU _with Patrick,_ was very sharp indeed, but terrifying. He’d never even mentioned to Patrick that he’d applied to NYU hoping for early decision, that that was the plan. He was afraid that if he told Patrick, Patrick would decide that both of them going to the same university after such a short time knowing each other was a bad idea, and then Patrick would be gone.

He was surprised to find both Patrick and Stevie sitting on a bench outside the school when he got out of the car.

“Hi!”

“We’re all just hanging out before school? Was there a text chain that I wasn’t on, or what?”

“Technically school starts in four minutes,” said Patrick.

“But yes, there is a text chain, and no, you’re not on it,” said Stevie.

“You’re kind.” David was a little bit happy that Patrick and Stevie were getting to be friends even when he wasn’t around to bridge the gap, but he also a little bit ( _very much_ ) wanted to be on every text chain that either of them was on, just in case something was said that he needed to weigh in on. Like, maybe Patrick asked Stevie for advice on what to wear, and that would be completely unacceptable.

David noticed Patrick was wearing the hiking shoes again. But at least it was jeans today. The hiking shoes were incorrect, but not as incorrect with jeans as they were with khakis.

And as Patrick got up to walk inside, David had to note that the jeans, while mid-range at best, and despite being straight-leg, were actually not too terribly bad to look at from behind.

In English they were assigned a group project on _Heart of Darkness,_ and _thank god_ they got to pick their own groups, so he and Patrick and Stevie got to sit together for once. Patrick made a little speech about at his old school having always been the one to do all the work on every group project ever, and so help you if you made him do it again, even if you _were_ going out with him, he’d been burned before, and David and Stevie couldn’t help but giggle, because that was obviously how it was going to go.

“Guys, could you please just maybe go online and watch the movie? _Apocalypse Now?_ It’s not even precisely the same story. It has helicopters and machine guns. At least that?”

“I actually read the book,” said Stevie, looking a little hurt. “I read books all the time.”

“Sorry, Stevie. That’s wonderful. I haven’t even finished it yet. David? Any plans to read the book? And maybe help _write_ about the book?”

“I’ll consider it.”

By the end of the period, Patrick had used some sort of seduction magic, and Stevie had used her _actual established magic,_ and David had agreed not only to read the book, but _also_ to watch _Apocalypse Now_ , as long as Patrick watched it with him and there would be food.

By the end of the week, Patrick had an idea to make the “actual head of Joseph Conrad” out of a plastic bucket with facial features glued on, and pull items out of it that represented Conrad’s life and themes from the book. Stevie thought this was hilarious and had suggested they all wear lab coats and safety goggles borrowed from the chemistry lab and pretend to be some sort of frozen-head scientists.

Patrick loved this idea. David thought a lab coat wouldn’t fit properly over _any_ of his sweaters, and safety goggles would mess up his hair, and also that pretending a bucket was anything near the shape of a human head was completely ridiculous.

“Do we have to do, like, a _skit?_ Can’t we just talk about the book? Or we could get one of those heads hairdressers learn on, and cut the hair off and repaint it to look like him, and use that? At least it would look like a head.”

Patrick was adamant. “David, we are not trainee hairdressers, and there’s no way we could get enrolled in cosmetology school in time. Once we put a face on the bucket everyone will get it.”

“It’s not going to look correct.”

“You know, David, one of the fundamental pillars of any successful group project is the ability to compromise.”

“I compromise all the time.”

Stevie laughed. Patrick looked like he _wanted_ to laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing. I was just, um, remembering all those times you compromised,” said Stevie.

“I was thinking about the same thing,” said Patrick. “There’s so many to flip through.”

“Okay,” said David, getting thoroughly indignant. “Last time I let you pick the movie we watched.”

“You made me pick between two Sandra Bullock movies.”

“And you picked _The Lake House,_ which was correct.”

“Just so you know, making someone pick between two things you like is not exactly a compromise.”

“I am _fine_ with compromise. It’s just this project idea that’s bothering me. Why don’t we go back to the beginning?”

“Fine. I asked you yesterday to take your dad’s car to the craft store in Elmdale to buy the colored felt to make the face out of, so maybe you could _compromise_ and go do that this afternoon after school?”

“Fine. Stevie, would you care to join me?”

“No,” said Stevie. “I have plans with Patrick after school.”

“So you guys are just gonna hang out and talk about me and how I don’t compromise?”

“Pretty much.”

“Mmm, yeah.”

A week later, they had the presentation finished. David still thought it was ridiculous, Stevie still thought it was funny, and Patrick really had done almost all of the writing. The bucket sat on a table, with its slightly asymmetrical felt face, and things inside it like a model ship and a French–English dictionary and a bunch of other stuff that had to do with their report.

It went over really well. Their English teacher thought the whole “we are scientists dissecting a frozen head” thing was very clever, and even though it was pretty obvious that Patrick had done most of the work, they all got a good grade.

After school, David, Patrick, and Stevie walked back to the motel, and David tried to ignore that Stevie had “Joseph Conrad’s” giant felt eyebrows stuck on her face and kept making weird grimaces in an impression not of Joseph Conrad, but in fact of David himself.

“Paaaatrick,” whined Stevie. “The bucket is the wrong shaaaape!”

This was the last straw.

He stopped in the middle of the street. “Fine!” he said. “I am terrible at compromise. There. I said it. Like Beyoncé, I am best as a _solo artist,_ and also my mother has a lot of influence on how I dress. Okay?”

“Let it out, David.”

“I’m sorry that I just know what looks good, and a bucket is not a human head, it’s not correct!”

David was, as requested, letting it out. “So many things at this school are not correct. There is a guy in our grade whose actual name is _Mutt Schitt._ Not correct! The way the stall doors in the bathrooms don’t close all the way is incorrect. The fact that Ted Mullens has not gotten _expelled_ after saying he could really _gopher a drink of water_ yesterday is incorrect!”

He paused for breath before throwing up his hands and finally letting it spill: “These _mountaineering shoes_ that my boyfriend is wearing are _incorrect!_ ”

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

“I said _gopher a drink of water!_ ”

“I think it was something about your boyfriend’s shoes?”

David blanched. “Um, I don’t remember saying that.”

“Yeah, no,” Stevie said, unhelpfully. “That’s what I heard.”

Patrick just grinned. “My boyfriend doesn’t like my shoes. I could take the shoes off and walk home in my socks.”

David wanted to be mad. He wanted to be really mad. But Patrick had immediately called him _his_ boyfriend too. So he gave up and walked back to the motel at a New York speed, not a Schitt’s Creek speed, and was pleased to find that Patrick followed him, laughing, and Stevie did not.

And when they got there, David and Alexis’s room was empty, and they proceeded to take advantage of that fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that it is obvious that the “actual frozen head of Joseph Conrad” is not something I would possibly make up, but is lifted one hundred percent directly from real life. It happened in my AP English class in [year redacted]. Lab coats and the whole thing. I wish I could say it was my group that did it, but my group was nowhere near that clever. My group had The Sun Also Rises. My group half-assed it and did Hemingway a disservice. But we did play [this song by the Doors](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAK5blgfKWM) in the background of our presentation, on a boombox the size of a small child.


	6. Chapter 6

It was the seventy-ninth (or maybe eighty-first) day of grade twelve. Or thereabouts. David had to be honest with himself and admit he’d lost count. He knew the school year was a hundred and ninety-four days. He knew they weren’t even halfway through. He clung to the thought that he wasn’t even halfway through this year. He and Patrick had plenty of time before they had to figure out what came next.

Plenty of time to make out in David’s room at the motel every time Alexis had one of her club meetings or went out with Ted. Plenty of time to sit and talk in Patrick’s mom’s car, or occasionally in David’s parents’ ridiculous Lincoln, when he could borrow it. Plenty of time to watch Sandra Bullock movies on Patrick’s laptop and eat pizza and good-naturedly argue about whether magic time-traveling mailboxes could possibly exist, and if so, how they could possibly time-travel in both directions without paradoxes. Plenty of time to kiss Patrick to shut him up about time-travel paradoxes.

Plenty of time to obsess about how it wasn’t really enough time, considering he had to figure out how to make it make sense for them to go to the same university. They needed _years_ to get to know each other well enough for that. If David told Patrick about NYU now, he’d scare him off. He’d frighten him into going to university in Toronto or Montreal or, god forbid, Vancouver.

So. Plenty of time to wish he had time-travel powers.

At lunch, Patrick sat down across from David with his tuna sandwich and held up a bright green flyer.

“Have you seen this?”

“What is it?”

“There’s an open mic night at the general store.”

“No, really, what is it?”

“Really! They used to do this sometimes in the town I moved here from. There was a little café, it had a little stage in the back. There’d be a pretty big crowd.”

“Okay. And people would pretend they were singer/songwriters and they would gather and perform and sing?”

“Yeah.”

“Kids, or adults, or—”

“Everyone, David! Lots of people can do things. I used to host sometimes.”

“Oh god.”

“The occasional improv troupe would stop by.”

“I’m feeling kind of sick.”

“David, let’s go. It can be a surprising amount of fun. Worst case scenario, we hang out with people we don’t have every class with.”

“Okay, no, worst case scenario, Ted does improv.”

Patrick Brewer  
  
**Today** 4:39 PM  
it starts at 8, do you want to grab dinner first?  
  
omg you actually want to go to the open mic night  
  
well, yes actually. please come with me?  
  
do I have to  
  
it’s not like you HAVE to but I really WANT you to  
  
you said dinner?  
  
yes, I said dinner  
  
on me. anywhere you want as long as it’s the cafe (sorry)  
  
and if Ted does improv we can leave??  
  
I swear to GOD that if Ted does improv we can leave  
  
okay, meet you at the cafe at 7?  
  
yes!! see you then  
  
ok  
  


David had no idea what one wore to an open mic night. He suspected it was not black tie, which was good, because the last time he wore black tie he was fourteen and about seven inches shorter than he was now, so even if his formal clothes were in the motel (he wasn’t sure if he’d saved them or not) they wouldn’t anywhere near fit.

He decided on black jeans and a Givenchy sweatshirt with flames on it. At least he could send the message that if not for Patrick, he would rather die in a fire than go to an open mic night.

They ate mozzarella sticks and burgers at the café, reminiscing about the first time they’d eaten them, and how it was funny now that Patrick had known it was their first date and David hadn’t, and they laughed remembering how Twyla had kicked them out when they stayed past closing. Then they blushed remembering that they’d kissed for the first time that night, and they just sort of stared at each other over the dregs of their refilled Cokes, and David couldn’t believe that this perfect dinner was only the first half of a date he most definitely did not want to go on the second half of.

They got to the general store, which David had always thought was tacky and poorly organized, and found that things had been rearranged to make room for a low platform to serve as a stage. There was a microphone stand and a wooden stool, and it just looked so _small-town talent show_ that David couldn’t believe this was his life now.

He was surprised when the owner of the local garage, Mr. Cully or Curry or something, went up—wearing a _beret—_ and did beat poetry, some of it bizarrely about bagels and most of it about someone named Gwen. David had no idea who Gwen was.

He was _very_ surprised when Mr. Butani went up and did impressions, but not at all surprised when they all came out sounding exactly the same, except for when he did DJ Khaled, which actually sort of worked.

When Mr. Butani finished, and people were clapping politely, David turned to Patrick to make a snide comment, and Patrick wasn’t there. Where had he gone? It was completely unlike David to not notice when Patrick left.

“So, hi,” came a voice over the sound system.

David was still looking for Patrick, and when he found him, sitting on the stool on the stage, with a guitar, he wanted to melt into the floor. Patrick was going to _sing?_ Patrick was going to _play the guitar?_ He hadn’t even known Patrick knew _how_ to play the guitar. He hadn’t been to Patrick’s house yet. Was it full of wooden stools and acoustic guitars and … and fringed vests, or something? This was a side of his boyfriend that David had not known existed, had not even suspected existed, and he had no idea how to process it.

“I’m Patrick Brewer, my family moved here just a few months ago, and I guess I would like to dedicate this song to anyone who’s feeling like maybe it’s hard to find your place in a new place, until you meet new people and figure out that everyone feels that way. Or something. Or meet people who make you feel right.” He laughed a little. “Or maybe it’s just a song I like. Okay.”

David had to smile a little. It was clear Patrick wasn’t sure what he was saying, but he had looked right at David when he’d said “people who make you feel right,” and he liked that. Patrick _should_ feel right. Patrick should feel at home wherever he was.

Welcome to your life  
There's no turning back  
Even while we sleep  
We will find you  
Acting on your best behavior  
Turn your back on mother nature  
[Everybody wants to rule the world](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aGCdLKXNF3w)

_Oh._ Patrick was _good._ People were enjoying it.

David wasn’t embarrassed at all. He was moved. He was kind of delighted. He didn’t know where to look but right at Patrick’s face, at Patrick’s mouth, at the words coming out of it. The words like _there’s no turning back,_ like Patrick knew David sometimes missed his old life. The words like _while we sleep,_ which made David blush a little bit, thinking of sleeping next to Patrick someday.

It's my own design  
It's my own remorse  
Help me to decide  
Help me make the  
Most of freedom and of pleasure  
Nothing ever lasts forever  
Everybody wants to rule the world 

Now David was definitely blushing, and he had to look away from Patrick’s face, so he looked at the ceiling for a bit. _Make the most of pleasure_ indeed. Patrick had to know what he was doing here. This wasn’t just a song he liked. He’d chosen this song _knowing_ David would dissect every line, knowing David would hear so much more than just the words.

There's a room where the light won't find you  
Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down  
When they do, I'll be right behind you 

David needed to sit down. Why was there nowhere to _just sit down?_

All for freedom and for pleasure  
Nothing ever lasts forever  
Everybody wants to rule the world 

When the song ended, Patrick lowered the guitar, looked right at David, and raised his eyebrows as if to say, _well? was that okay?_ and all David could do was nod and clap and smile. It was a small miracle that he managed to stop the tears welling in his eyes from rolling down his face in front of literally everyone in the entire town.

After the general store cleared out, David and Patrick were standing on the sidewalk, Patrick talking about a chord he’d messed up and whether anyone had noticed—and David trying to figure out what to say at all—when David’s mom pulled up in the Lincoln.

She rolled down the window and called out, “There’s my boy and his butter-voiced beau!”

David hadn’t noticed his mom in the general store at all. “Wait, you were there?” He turned to Patrick. “Did you notice my mom was there?”

But Patrick was staring at David with his mouth hanging open.

“Um, hi, Mrs. Rose. Can you just, um, are you here to give David a ride, or—”

“You can both have a ride; this vehicle has room for positively _plethoras_ of your captivating classmates if there were anyone else who needed transport!”

“Um, okay, is it okay if I just come back to the motel, I wanted to talk to David a little more and I don’t want to keep you …”

“But _of course_ you may accompany us to our lowly domicile, if that is truly your desire. _Hop in,_ as I believe the hoi-polloi would say.”

The boys got into the back of the Lincoln, where there was plenty of room for them and Patrick’s guitar case (which David supposed he must have dropped off at the general store before dinner, the sneaky little shit). The ride back to the motel was quiet.

“So,” said David, after they’d literally paid Alexis to put in her earbuds and turn up the volume, “you play the guitar, then?”

“I do, yeah. My dad got me the guitar for my thirteenth birthday—I begged for an electric one, I wanted to be a rock star, but I guess he knew me a little better than I knew myself, because clearly that is not what I am.”

“And you just sang a song to everyone in the town.”

“David, everyone in the town wasn’t there, and even if they were, I wasn’t singing it to _them._ ”

“Who were you singing it to?”

“Your mother.”

“Just say it, okay?”

Patrick glanced over at Alexis, who was almost completely under the covers on her bed, facing away from them. “I sang it to you. I wanted to sing a love song, David, but I couldn’t, I’m not brave enough, and I’m sorry for that.”

“You don’t have to apologize—”

“Listen, there are some things I want to say to you, and I was going to say them on the walk home, but then your mother came up with the car, and I guess she knows we’re going out, because she called me your _beau,_ and I’m pretty sure that’s French for _boyfriend,_ because I’m in fifth-year French and so are you—”

“Um, yeah, sorry, they know.”

“They both know?”

“They all know. I told Alexis about us, and Alexis told my mom, and my mom told my dad, and I’ve made it _very clear_ that you’re not out, and that’s _fine,_ and they are sworn to secrecy, but I guess I never got it that you didn’t _know_ they knew, and now I’m sorry.”

“Okay. They know. Okay. That—well, actually, maybe that makes things easier. That someone knows.”

“Stevie knows.”

“David, Stevie has superpowers or something. Stevie knows _everything._ ”

David laughed. He had been pretty sure he was the only one who knew Stevie was magic.

“So you said there were things you wanted to say.”

“Yeah. Okay. So before I moved here, I guess you know, I only went out with girls.”

“I do know that, yes.”

“And now I’m going out with a guy.”

“I am very aware of that and very thankful for that.” David leaned forward and kissed Patrick briefly. “Go on.”

“Well, no matter how hard I tried with girls, it just never felt right. And up until recently, I didn't understand why.” Patrick took a deep breath and took David’s hands in his. “David, I've spent all this time not knowing what right was supposed to feel like, and then I met you. And everything changed.”

David was afraid that he was maybe going to cry.

“You make me feel right, David.”

David was definitely going to cry.

“That is quite possibly one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard anyone say. Um, outside of the Downton Christmas Special.”

“It's the truth.”

As Patrick leaned forward and put his arms around David, and David put his head on Patrick’s shoulder, all he could think was:

Maybe some things _could_ last forever. Even if you didn’t get to rule the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I apologize for not being able to do Moira’s voice at all. I am very frustrated by this. I can hear her in my head using words like perambulate instead of walk and I can’t seem to translate it into what I actually want her to sound like.
> 
> I couldn’t use “The Best” because in this universe Patrick isn’t really out to anyone but David and Stevie, and his parents live in the town, so singing a love song to David in public doesn’t fit. I searched for “acoustic covers of 80s pop songs” and found [this Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/album/7cfivtcklhwlGF2cPPhkP5?si=N9Qx2RRAQ7qf2neVFo6otQ), and of the songs on it I decided that [this cover of “Everybody Wants to Rule the World”](https://open.spotify.com/track/7DNJverRSrLnoCUNWqaU3J) fit Noah's style pretty well. I’ve always loved this song, and it has some lyrics that fit David’s life and worries (there’s no turning back, nothing lasts forever, etc.).
> 
> I also had to move the “you make me feel right” speech and make it not end sadly, because there is no temporary breakup, because I have erased Rachel from the narrative. (That phrase is the only Hamilton reference in this entire fic, which I think shows an amazing level of self-control on my part.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice by David’s count of school days that we are past the point in the calendar where Christmas would usually be. I decided to skip Christmas. I can’t really explain why, except that this is already much longer than I originally planned (I'm writing chapter 13 now), and I don’t seem to be in full control of it anymore.

On the one-hundred-first (or maybe one-hundred-fourth) day of grade twelve—just over halfway, anyway—they had a substitute teacher in history. Mrs. Schitt had a doctor’s appointment or something. David shook his head as he realized that he knew this. The town was so small that when the history teacher who was also the mayor’s daughter-in-law was pregnant, people _knew_ about it. It was utter nonsense.

But the substitute apparently did not give any shits whatsoever about _instructional time_ or whatever they were supposed to be doing. She literally had earbuds in and seemed to be listening to a podcast on her phone. Judging by her facial expressions, it was both disgusting and funny. Probably one of those ones about serial killers.

“What do you think she’s listening to?” asked Patrick, who’d taken the opportunity of an absent authority figure to turn his desk completely around to face David.

“Murder porn,” answered David, without really thinking about it.

Patrick let out a loud, shocked laugh that made some heads turn, but he just smiled his button-down, nice-boy, sorry-nothing-to-see-here smile and everyone looked away.

“Murder what now?”

“Oh, she keeps making these faces that are all—” David tried to make a disgusted-yet-amused face, but judging by the fact that Patrick immediately slid his foot up David’s calf, it came across as either aroused-yet-annoyed or annoyed-yet-aroused. “Faces that are disgusted but still, like, laughing a little? I thought maybe she was listening to one of those true crime investigation podcasts people seem to like so much.”

“I saw her phone screen when I got up to turn my desk around. She’s listening to something called _Songbird Killer,_ and I thought it was a band, but I suppose you could be right. I’m just glad she’s distracted.”

“Wish everyone else was,” said David, looking around before risking squeezing Patrick’s hand a little. “Or, like, that we were somewhere else.”

“Speaking of somewhere else,” said Patrick.

“What?”

“You don’t have to say yes, you can say no, it’s fine, it’s not a big deal—”

“There’s somewhere you want to go?”

Patrick chuckled and did a pretty accurate impression of Alexis’s deliberate two-eyed wink. “There’s definitely some _places I want to go_ with you, but that’s not quite what I mean.”

“What is it, then?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to come over for dinner on Saturday.”

“To your house?”

“To my house. Yes. With my parents.”

“Your parents invited me to dinner?”

“Well, here’s the thing.” Patrick couldn’t seem to look David in the eye. “The thing is, I think maybe they know I’m dating someone. Or they suspect. Or maybe they just think I have a new best friend? My mom is kind of dropping hints.”

“Like what?”

“Well, when I borrowed her car for that dance right after we moved here she asked if I had a date, and I said we were going as a group, which I think she thought was me being evasive, and then I kept borrowing the car to see you, and then I guess I’m always all smiley when I get home, and then I’ve been late coming home from school because you and I keep hanging out in the afternoons … I guess she put some things together.”

“You’re always all smiley when you get home?” David was not going to let that slide.

Patrick looked at the floor, and then up at David, and he was _all smiley._ “Yes, David, I am all smiley when I get home. Pretty much every day.”

“Are they … like, are they gonna freak out? That I’m a guy?”

Patrick shook his head. Then he nodded. Then he shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“Really?”

“David, I know my parents are good people, I just … I can't shake this, this fear that there is a small chance that this could change everything.” Patrick couldn’t look David in the eyes. He looked like if they weren’t in desks he’d be pacing back and forth. David had never seen him like this.

“I owe it to _us_ to tell them. I want them to know. I want you to be able to come over to my house and hang out and watch movies on a screen bigger than a laptop, and make out on the couch in the basement, and criticize the decor in my room, and all the things we’d totally be doing by now if I wasn’t being a coward about this.”

David risked the school gossiping about them _more_ and turned his seat sideways so he could put his arm around Patrick’s shoulders. “Okay, Patrick,” he said quietly, “what you're dealing with is very personal. You should get to come out on your own terms, or whatever. It’s okay if we just say we’re friends, or avoid the question, or whatever. I mean, I told my parents I’m pansexual by bringing a guy _and_ a girl, who were by the way dating _each other,_ home for dinner, and I just said _deal with it._ ”

Patrick laughed and shook his head. “But you’re brave,” he said, looking softly at David, just as the bell rang.

On Saturday, David decided to wear the sweater with the lightning bolts on it, because it made him feel like he was protected somehow. And he wore regular black jeans, not white ones, not acid-washed, and definitely no skirt. He was about to be introduced as his boyfriend’s first boyfriend; the rest of his sure-to-be-terrifying-to-the-Brewers details could come later.

He was carrying a small potted plant as a hostess gift for Mrs. Brewer. His mom had suggested he bring her a bottle of wine, but considering it would be a while before he was legally old enough to drink it, that didn’t seem anywhere close to appropriate. So he’d bought a little jade plant at the general store, and that seemed okay. Alexis had said it was “squee.”

In the car over to the Brewers’ house, David’s dad wasn’t chatty at first, but just before they turned into the neighborhood he pulled over and looked at David.

“Dad, don’t stop, I’m going to be late. I don’t actually _want_ to be late this time.”

“I have to tell you something, son. I’m really sorry about this—”

“Oh my god, what did you do.”

“It’s just, I ran into Patrick’s parents at the café earlier, and I knew who they were—small town, you know—but I hadn’t actually met them yet, so I introduced myself as your dad—”

“Oh my god, Dad, _what did you do._ ”

“—and I mentioned how much your mom and I like Patrick, and how he’s good for you—”

“Oh my god, Dad, _turn this car around,_ we have to go home—”

“—and I guess, well, maybe you should have _told me,_ but they do not seem to have been aware that the two of you are a couple.”

David felt like his spine was made of jelly and like his head was full of bees and like his eyes were going to fall out of his actual head. _No, no, no. This was not happening. Why hadn’t he just asked to drive himself over? That would make this not be happening. Not have happened. Fucking time travel, where are you when I need you?_

“Dad. Oh my god. I cannot believe you did that. What am I going to say when I walk in there? Patrick was stressing out like _crazy_ about coming out to them, and you fucking did it _for_ him?”

“David, I said I’m sorry, there’s no call for the language—”

“On the fucking _contrary,_ I believe there is plenty of call for the language, he’s going to absolutely _hate me_ for this!”

“I seriously doubt that, David.”

“Just—I mean, I guess I have to go, I can’t just not show up, but what … what am I going to _do?_ ”

“I suppose you apologize on my behalf—or I could come in with you—”

“ _No!_ You are _not_ coming in with me. I can deal with this. I’ll just fall to my knees and offer Patrick all my worldly possessions so he doesn’t break up with me, I’ll swear to cut off all contact with you, and maybe I can keep him—"

“Don’t be so dramatic, David. They seemed like perfectly reasonable people.”

“You are no judge of what is _reasonable_ today.”

When David rang the doorbell, Patrick was the one who opened the door, and immediately, from the smile on his face, David knew Patrick did not know what had happened. He might have a chance to make this okay.

Patrick led David into the living room, where his parents were sitting on the couch. They stood up when the boys came in, and Mr. Brewer shook David’s hand.

“Hi, Mrs. Brewer, Mr. Brewer. I'm … I'm David Rose.”

“Oh, David,” said Mrs. Brewer. “Come in! It’s so nice to have you!”

“Oh, thank you. Um … I, uh, I brought you this plant as a sort of thank-you for having me. The lady said this one would be easy to take care of, so it’s not like I’m giving you work to do.” David felt like a babbling idiot, but Patrick was positively _beaming,_ so maybe this wasn’t going _too_ badly.

“Thank you, David,” said Mrs. Brewer. “It’s lovely. And jade plants are supposed to be good luck, and everyone can use that. I’m going to go put it in the kitchen window.”

She started for the kitchen, but then stopped and turned around. “Patrick, would you please go upstairs and check what’s going on in your room? I could swear something has been beeping up there for hours, and I don’t think I’m imagining it.”

“Sure. Maybe my alarm was set for PM instead of AM or something like that. David, you wanna see my room?”

David _very much_ wanted to see Patrick’s room, or his stamp collection, or whatever else was up there, but Mrs. Brewer put her hand on his arm and stopped him. “Actually, David, come into the kitchen with me. You can help me set the table, and we can start getting to know each other.”

Patrick’s eyes went wide with what David read as _oh my god, she’s going to positively grill you for information on available girls at school or something,_ but David said, “Of course, Mrs. Brewer, glad to help,” and Patrick reluctantly went upstairs.

In the kitchen, both Mr. and Mrs. Brewer looked at David as though this, getting rid of Patrick, had been _his_ plan.

“So, sweetie, we met your dad today,” said Patrick’s mom.

He understood the chance he’d been given and seized it.

“Yeah. I think I need to apologize for … a very unfortunate miscommunication.”

Patrick’s dad spoke for the first time. “So you're _not_ dating our son?”

David was shocked into honesty by the directness.

“Oh, no. I very much am.” _Very much am?_ What kind of dimwit grammar was coming out of him? These lovely people were going to think their son not only was gay but had awful taste in men. “Um, I was talking more about how you found out.”

“Was it something we did, David?”

David was taken aback yet again. “I'm sorry?” _Had Patrick’s dad actually just asked that?_

Mrs. Brewer scolded her husband for his lack of tact. “Honey, stop!”

“No, I wanna ask. Do you think if we'd done things differently, that Patrick would still be—”

At this point David felt that he _had_ to interrupt, the universal “let adults speak” rule notwithstanding.

“I understand that this can come as a shock to some people. But he is still the same person, and he—”

Now Mrs. Brewer interrupted, taking a step closer to David, with a look on her face that very clearly said _I am a mother, and I might cry._ David started looking for exits, wishing there were a flight attendant to point them out.

“David, we're not upset about Patrick being gay!”

“No!” said Mr. Brewer, shaking his head and looking horrified.

David was at least as relieved at that moment as he had been when Alexis and Lotus finally got to the embassy. “Oh my god, okay! For a minute I thought this was gonna get very dark.”

Mr. Brewer tried to explain. “The thought that Patrick was feeling like he couldn't come and talk to us about this—”

David heard Patrick on the stairs, calling down, “Mom? You’re not going crazy. Took me a while to find it, but it was the remote, sorry about that. It’s fixed now!”

Before Patrick could come into the kitchen, David stage-whispered, “He’s planning on telling you soon. So I think maybe we should just … keep him in the closet until then.” _Keep him in the closet?_ David sounded like a serial killer. “I know that came out wrong, but we all understand what I’m saying, right?”

The Brewers nodded. “Okay.”

“Yeah.”

Over dinner, Patrick complained to a strange extent about the television remote that actually used its low batteries to beep to tell you its batteries were low. His parents laughed; apparently this was an ongoing complaint. David thought, _why not just get a different remote,_ but it wasn’t really his focus.

His focus was how much more he now wanted to see Patrick’s room, if there was a television in there. They could watch movies in Patrick’s _bedroom._ They could watch movies—or not watch movies— _in Patrick’s bed._ He may have gotten distracted by that thought, because the next thing he knew, three Brewers were looking expectantly at him. _Fuck. Someone must have asked him a question._

“I’m sorry, I was a million miles away. What did I miss?”

Mrs. Brewer laughed. “I was just curious about your mom. I haven’t met her yet, but I’ve seen her around town. She stands out for sure.”

“She does stand out, yes. I think if she didn’t stand out she would wither away. She thrives on attention.” David was being a little insulting, he thought, but screw it. “If you want to meet her, carry a camera, and she’ll come to _you_.” He grinned so that it would be clear that this _stone-cold fact_ was meant to be a joke.

Mrs. Brewer did laugh. “I used to watch that show, you know? _Sunrise Bay._ When Patrick was really little, before I went back to work, it was one of the things I’d have on during the day. I was never much for soap operas, but that one was just _so insane_ —”

“Mom!” interrupted Patrick. “Insane?”

“No, it’s okay,” said David. “It was absolutely completely insane. Do you remember when she was stuck in a crystal on the ceiling of a cave, and no one even looked up to notice she was there and rescue her? She loves to talk about that.”

“I _do_ remember that!” said Mrs. Brewer, laughing.

Patrick smiled at David. David smiled at Patrick. And dinner was delicious. It was all going to be fine.

When they finished eating, Patrick volunteered himself and David to clear the table and put the leftovers away, and when that was done, they went into the living room.

Mr. Brewer clapped his son on the shoulder. “You've got a really wonderful friend here, Patrick.”

“Thank you,” said David, genuinely touched.

“Actually,” said Patrick.

 _Actually?_ thought David. _He’s going to do this now?_

Apparently he was. “David, could you give me a minute with my parents? Go, like, check out the backyard or something. You can see where the people who lived here before us buried all their pets.”

Mrs. Brewer was aghast. “Patrick! Of all the things!”

David got it, though. “No, that’s fine. I need to text my friend about an assignment I just remembered anyway. I’ll just step outside.” He went through the kitchen into the backyard, where there were in fact an alarming number of little gravestones at the edge of the property. Either the people who lived in the Brewers’ house before were straight up pet murderers, or they had been one of those families who only had pets that didn’t live very long. Like hamsters or something.

He didn’t need to text anyone about an assignment, but _holy hell_ did he need to text someone.

Stevie Who Knows All And Sees All  
  
**Today** 7:45 PM  
OH MY GOD STEVIE PLEASE BE THERE  
  
also when the fuck did you change your name in my phone  
  
I did that like a YEAR ago dumbass  
  
and what is going on, aren’t you supposed to be at Patrick’s  
  
I AM at Patrick’s  
  
and I am in a backyard full of dead hamsters and I THINK he is coming out to his parents inside RIGHT NOW  
  
1, remind me not to go in Patrick’s backyard ever  
  
2, WHAT WHAT WHAT  
  
I KNOW  
  
can you hear?  
  
no, I’m outside and they’re two rooms away, there’s no way, I can’t even see them from here to read lips  
  
fuck well I guess that’s good right? that he’s telling them?  
  
god I hope so, there are more details but I will tell you later  
  
tell me now!!!!  
  
I can’t, he’s coming outside  
  
oh thank you jesus he looks happy  
  


Patrick did look happy. His relief was evident in every bit of his face.

“David,” he said, “I know that you're freaking out, but this dinner might go down as one of the happiest nights of my life.”

“Well, I guess that makes up for the fact that I acted like an idiot the whole time.”

“So how long have they known?”

“I'm sorry?”

“My parents. How long have they known? About us?”

_What? How had he given it away? He had not given it away. There was no chance._

“Um, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“David, I know my parents. They're not good actors. They knew about us, right?”

David twisted his hands together and tried to look innocent. “Okay, my dad might’ve told them, but only just today, and he thought they knew!”

“Was you bringing a gift for my mom—baller move, by the way—was it because of that? You were trying to fix their first impression?”

“I was trying to just make everything okay.”

“Yeah? Well, you make everything okay.”

And Patrick pulled him close, grinning, and kissed him, right there in his backyard, right there in front of the dead hamsters or gerbils or goldfish or whatever, and David thought, _this might be one of the happiest nights of his life._ And David thought, _I can beat that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a remote that does this—uses its low battery to beep to tell you its batteries are low—and it is the dumbest, most annoying thing.
> 
> Did you know there are [podcast name generators](https://businessnamegenerator.com/podcast-name-generator/)? If you’re a budding serial killer (pun on Stevie’s name very much intended), consider becoming the Songbird Killer. The URL is available, which really cuts down on your prep work.


	8. Chapter 8

When he got home from school on the one-hundred-nineteenth day of grade twelve, there was an envelope addressed to David on the table in the motel room. He opened it to find his early decision acceptance letter from NYU.

_Early. Decision. Acceptance. New. York. University._

_I got in early decision to NYU,_ screamed David in his head.

“I got in early decision to NYU!” screamed David in the motel room.

“You did?!” shrieked Alexis.

“Of fully _course_ you did, my beauteous boy!” trilled his mother.

“Attaboy, son!” said his dad.

There was a family group hug in which David reluctantly participated. There was talk of going out to dinner, but since the café was really the only realistic option, that fizzled out. David asked if they could get pizza, and if Patrick and Stevie could come over, and that seemed like a great idea to everyone.

Patrick Brewer  
  
**Today** 4:57 PM  
hi so I have some big news  
  
I just saw you like an hour ago at school, what’s up?  
  
I got something in the mail  
  
I only got you that gay porn subscription because stevie dared me  
  
I got in early decision to NYU arts  
  
wait what  
  
NO NO NEVER MIND THAT WAS A JOKE  
  
DAVID THAT IS AMAZING I AM SO PROUD OF YOU  
  
thank you :)  
  
wait  
  


_Oh, no._

Patrick Brewer  
  
**Today** 5:04 PM  
I don’t think you ever told me you even applied there  
  


_Oh, fuck._

Patrick Brewer  
  
**Today** 5:06 PM  
ok yes that is probably true  
  
the truth is it’s the ONLY place I applied  
  
I can’t even explain how badly I need to go to new york  
  
when we lived there before it was amazing and not just because we had money  
  
it’s the only place I ever felt like I was really ME  
  
5:08 PM  
until I met you  
  
oh David  
  
I was scared in case I didn’t get in at all and I didn’t want you to think I only applied there because you told me YOU wanted to go there  
  
I applied really early, like in september before you even moved here  
  


_Please,_ thought David. _Please let him understand._

Patrick Brewer  
  
**Today** 5:10 PM  
I didn’t think you only applied there for me  
  
but omg, if you thought I wanted to go there BEFORE  
  
can I come see you please  
  
yes come over, we’re having pizza and whatever to celebrate, please come now now now  
  
I’ll beg for the car, be there asap  
  


Stevie stop changing your name in my phone  
  
**Today** 5:12 PM  
stevie I got into nyu arts early decision, it’s a done deal, I’m fucking going to new york  
  
YES YOU RULE I FUCKING KNEW IT  
  
CHANGING YOUR NAME IN MY PHONE RIGHT NOW FROM DUMBASS TO ROCK STAR GENIUS  
  
you had me in your phone as dumbass?  
  
yes obviously since like I met you, keep up  
  
was it at least like dumbass and then a heart  
  
no  
  
srsly hurt  
  
lmao liar, what are we doing to celebrate  
  
are you here or at home? come have pizza with my family and patrick  
  
I’m here, be right there  
  
k  
  
so proud of you I could fucking die  
  


She burst into the room sixty seconds later and after announcing “this is _just for today,_ we are _not_ making a habit of this shit,” she hugged David more tightly than she had since they’d broken up two years before.

Then she hugged Alexis, which was bizarre, and Alexis’s gigantic eyes said she thought so too, and then she hugged their mom, which their mom accepted with her usual complete lack of actual grace and complete impersonation of total grace, and then she hugged their dad, which he was totally into, because they never hugged their dad.

“Stevie, if we’d known you could even _be_ in this good of a mood, we’d have invited you to have pizza far more often!” said David’s dad with a brilliant grin.

“Absolutely,” said David’s mom. “You are categorically _effulgent_ today, Stevie dear!”

“Well, it’s not every day your best friend gets exactly what he wanted for the last two years,” said Stevie. Then she realized she was coming across as _happy_ and backpedaled. “Well. Really I just heard there was free pizza. Do you have cold pop?”

They did, in fact, have cold pop, and everyone had one while they argued over pizza toppings and David’s dad called in the order.

Patrick arrived just after the pizza did.

“I am _so sorry_ it took me so long to get here. My mom wouldn’t let me take the car, she had a thing, she had to finish what she was doing and then drop me off here—so I guess I’ll need a ride home later, if that’s okay—sorry, hi Mrs. Rose, hi Mr. Rose, thanks for inviting me over—”

David cut him off by throwing his arms around him and kissing him right in front of his family and Stevie.

“Mmmmfff!”

“I don’t care. _New York,_ Patrick! Can you believe it?”

“Of course I can believe it. It’s clearly where you’re supposed to be.” Patrick hugged David, then extricated himself from his arms with a bit of a flush to his cheeks.

“So. Is everyone here? Let’s eat pizza and talk about how smart David is.”

David thought that sounded like a fairly spectacular plan for the evening.

Stevie left when they ran out of sausage pizza, which she and David’s eyebrows had a silent conversation about.

_We’re out of … sausage … so you’re leaving._

_That is a terrible joke, and you are no better than Ted._

Nothing could break David’s good mood today, though, so he let her have the last word. The last not-a-word. The last look.

David loved Stevie. He couldn’t wait for her to visit him at university. She would _love_ New York. She would love yelling at taxi drivers. She would love complaining about how expensive things were. She would _excel_ at finding bars that didn’t check IDs—the drinking age there was _twenty-one,_ which was _forever_ away—and she’d find the consignment shops with the best weird shit. He couldn’t wait.

When everyone had had enough to eat, Alexis went into the bathroom to “get ready for bed,” but considering it wasn’t even eight o’clock, it was clear she was going to sit in there and text with Ted for a while. David’s dad hugged him again, said “attaboy” again, and then he and David’s mom went into their room, pointedly leaving the connecting door open.

Patrick snickered. “They left the door open. What do they think we’re going to get up to in here?”

“Are they being overly cautious?”

“Not at _all,_ ” said Patrick, pulling David down to sit on his own bed with him.

He ran his fingers through David’s hair at the temples, and David closed his eyes and shivered a little. He heard Patrick’s low chuckle as his fingers moved down, caressing his ears, then his palms swept down David’s neck and onto his shoulders.

He felt Patrick’s breath on his cheek, then on his lips, and then he was being kissed so gently, so tenderly, that his eyes welled up. How had he gotten so lucky? How had this boy come into his life? He hadn’t done _anything_ to deserve this.

“David.”

“Mmmm.”

“Hey. Look at me for a second. You okay?”

“I am _very_ okay. It’s just been kind of an eventful day. I might be a little, like, _whelmed._ ”

Another chuckle. “Over or under?”

David pulled Patrick closer with his arms over his shoulders, and Patrick’s hands came to rest on David’s waist where they belonged. They had both pulled one leg up onto the bed so they could face each other, and it was awkward. David thought they were probably both thinking about how comfortable it would be to just _lie down,_ but with that connecting door open and Alexis able to emerge from the bathroom at any moment, it probably wasn’t a good idea.

“Over,” whispered David, pulling back a bit and stroking Patrick’s shoulders. “But exactly the right amount. _God_ but I wish we were alone.”

“David?”

“Mmmm?”

“I don’t want to add more whelm to your day, but I love you.”

David blacked out for somewhere between zero and a thousand seconds. His mind raced. Patrick had just said _I love you._ Patrick _loved_ him.

On some level, of course, David had known this. David had loved Patrick for ages. Probably months. Patrick was the most important person in the world, and it wasn’t close. He’d passed his family really fast, and he’d passed Stevie a while later, and Patrick was the only person David wanted to spend _any_ effort thinking about. But the idea of saying _I love you_ was terrifying for some reason. He’d only said it to his parents twice, and once he’d screamed it at a Mariah Carey concert. And Patrick knew that. He’d told him that.

“Okay, so you just said that to me for the first time, knowing that it would make me _more_ overwhelmed.”

“That’s correct.”

“Because you know that I’ve never said that to anyone else, aside from my parents twice, and once—”

“At a Mariah Carey concert. I know.”

“Yeah.”

“And I don’t expect you to say it back to me right now. You say it when you’re ready.” Patrick smiled, not nervous at all, just happy. How did he _do_ that? “Just felt right to me in the moment.”

Patrick paused, and his smile took a little bit of a turn toward evil-grin territory. He winked. A real one, not an Alexis one. And then he schooled his features into total innocence.

“You’re my Mariah Carey.”

David needed a new word. _Overwhelmed_ was no longer cutting it.

“That compliment could bring me to tears, but I’m not gonna let it. So, um, thank you? For all the wonderful things you just said?”

Patrick just smiled.

“Can I have a ride home? Or do you want me to stay until someone comes in and interrupts us?”

“We should probably not—”

“Yeah. I know.”

When David got back from taking Patrick home, it was almost nine, and Alexis had come out of the bathroom.

“Ted’s coming over.”

“What, now? It’s like nine PM.”

“And you are all puffy and red and look like someone who’s been crying and then kissing his boyfriend in the car for the last hour. What’s your point?”

“Whatever. I’m not going anywhere, so don’t expect any privacy.”

“Ew, David. We don’t need _privacy._ We’re not _perverts_ like you and your button-faced _beau._ ”

“Oh my god, do not quote Mom at me. Also, she said _butter-voiced_ that time, because of the singing. And she’s not wrong.”

Ted knocked at the door and let himself in when Alexis warbled something like “yay woo hey yay hiiii” at his arrival.

He greeted David with a wave and an enormous grin, and said, “Thanks for letting me come over. I was going crazy spending the evening _owl by myself_.”

Alexis actually _laughed._ She thought it was _cute._

David wanted to be above it. He wanted to be superior and standoffish and silent. But today was not a standoffish sort of a day. He could admit he loved Alexis. He actually liked Ted. Damn. But _Patrick loved him,_ so it was all okay.

He picked up a completely ridiculous gossip magazine from 1989 and tried not to listen to Alexis and Ted cooing at each other a few feet away.

He could deal with this for another seventy-five school days.

Patrick loved him.

Eventually, he dozed off—all the relationships being gossiped about in the magazine were long over, or the people in them had _died_ —and when he woke up Ted was gone and Alexis was asleep under her blankets.

He changed his clothes, went into the bathroom and washed his face (and toned and moisturized—he wouldn’t be eighteen forever), and went to sleep looking forward to the next day. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pretend the Roses do not need to worry about how to pay for university? You’d really be helping me out. Pretend David has US citizenship and wouldn’t be a foreign student. Pretend he got a scholarship. Pretend he got loans. Pretend the motel is doing booming business. I tried to research this Canadian-citizen-goes-to-NYU-Tisch situation, and it just blew me away. When I went to a state school in [years redacted], I got in early decision, and I swear everything was just so, so much easier.
> 
> Also, I just realized my age is showing, because obviously college acceptances don’t come as paper letters in the mail anymore. But it’s too late now, because I like the moment the way I wrote it, so let’s just let that go.


	9. Chapter 9

The day after what David was privately referring to as _Whelmday_ in his head, he floated through school without really internalizing anything. For one thing, he had his college acceptance. As long as he passed all his classes this semester, he was good. Everything was settled. As long as Patrick got into NYU too—and they had something like thirty-six more school days until they’d know—everything was going to be _perfect._

For another thing, Patrick loved him. He had silent conversations with himself about it.

_Have I mentioned Patrick loves me?_

_You have, in fact, mentioned that. Have I told you that Patrick loves me?_

_Yes, I believe so. Patrick loves me, by the way._

He felt like a maniac, but he didn’t care. He was giving himself one day to float like this. It was like being high, but it felt like it was lasting forever, and he needed to remember it.

He floated from class to class, and at lunch Patrick patted him on the head and said he was leaving early for a dentist appointment, and he’d see him later, and he kissed him on the cheek right there in the hallway in front of everyone, and waved, and he left, and David still floated.

When school let out, Stevie seized him bodily and pulled him around to the side of the school building.

“ _David._ ”

“What? Hi.”

“Yes, _hiiii._ What is _with_ you today?”

“What?”

She looked like she was going to slap him. He recognized that look from the time in grade eleven when she had, in fact, slapped him. It had _hurt._ This brought him back to alertness.

“Sorry. Yes. I’m here. Sorry. I’m so distracted today. Did I—Jesus, Stevie, did I not fucking _tell_ you?”

“About NYU? Yes, you told me. We had pizza. Are you, in fact, high? Without me? Or have you had a head injury since last night?”

David laughed, a real, true laugh, not a sardonic chuckle or sarcastic guffaw. Stevie was visibly taken aback.

“Patrick told me he loves me last night.”

“You are shitting me.”

“I promise I am not.”

“Did you say it back?”

David couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Um.”

Stevie made a sort of _of course you didn’t_ face, then shook her head and changed it to a _my best friend is a complete besotted imbecile_ face. “Where is he?”

“He had a thing, he left at lunch.”

“Is he home now?”

“I guess so? I don’t know. Text him and see, if you want to know.”

She pulled out her phone and spent a minute typing and reading.

“Yes. He’s at home. Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Seriously, do we need to be at the hospital? Follow a fucking conversation for more than ten seconds, _please._ ”

“Right. Yes. Patrick. Let’s go see Patrick.”

Stevie bundled him into the car she mercifully had that day, turned the heat up to MAX, though it never helped, and off they went to Patrick’s house…

…where she stopped the car, unlocked the doors, and did not move.

“Well? Go.”

“What?”

“You. Go inside. See your boyfriend. You have unfinished business.”

David started to object, but honestly he supposed this was true.

“You really do know all and see all, don’t you?”

“I have been telling you that since we were basically children. Would you _please_ go? I think it really will fix your brain if you do this, and I cannot have a friend who is as _immitigably stupid_ as you have been today.”

“ _Immitigably_ sounds like something my mother would say.”

She rolled her eyes and went into her impression. “ _Daaaaavid._ My boy. My beautiful hirsute young lordling. Get your posterior into the interior of that dwelling and _please_ tell your butter-button beau that you adore every single minimal iota of his entire essential nature.”

She pronounced _nature_ as though it rhymed with _manure,_ and David wanted to remember that for later, when it would be hilarious.

He got out of the car.

“Hi,” said Patrick, smiling a lopsided smile. “Sorry, I had some novocaine.”

“Hi. What did they do to you?”

“They thought I had a wisdom tooth that needed to come out, but it doesn’t, but they almost did, but they didn’t.”

“Gotcha.”

“You understood that? I feel like I’m speaking gibberish.”

“I understand gibberish. You’ve met my mother. It’s a gift.”

“How was the afternoon at school?”

David didn’t answer. Instead, he put his arms around Patrick, and Patrick held his waist, and David kissed him, deeply, not caring if the Brewers were right there, or if they were in front of a window (they were), or if Patrick’s face hurt, or what. He just kissed him like someone who was in love with him. Which he was.

“I love you.”

David had tears in his eyes again. It was so _easy._ Why hadn’t he said it before? It was _nothing._ Well, it was not nothing. It was everything. But it was so _right,_ and it was so _easy._

“I know I’ll never be able to compete with Mariah,” said Patrick.

David muttered agreement.

“But this just feels like one of those perfect moments that you dream about.”

David beamed.

“Except in my dream I can feel both halves of my face when you kiss me.”

And they leaned together, their foreheads touching, and closed their eyes, and just held each other. And it was one of those perfect moments that you dream about.

The weekend passed in a haze of kissing in the car, _finally_ watching a movie ( _Hope Floats,_ not one of his absolute favorites, but still a vital part of the Bullock canon) on Patrick’s bed, kissing on Patrick’s bed—though not _in_ Patrick’s bed—kissing at the motel, and counting the days until they could start checking the mail for Patrick’s acceptance letters.

On Tuesday, the one-hundred-twenty-third day of grade twelve, Patrick greeted him just inside the school doors in the morning with a kiss on the cheek that could only be termed a _smooch_ and a grin that could only be termed _shit-eating._

“Guess what?”

“I couldn’t possibly,” drawled David, affecting a too-cool-for-this-conversation aura that Patrick usually thought was amusing.

“Okay. I won’t bother to tell you, then.”

David shrugged and turned to walk toward their class, and Patrick promptly lost the game, pulling him back.

“ _Guess,_ David.”

David looked Patrick up and down and tried to figure out what it was. It wasn’t the NYU acceptance. It was way too early. Regular decision letters didn’t go out until almost April. It wasn’t a dentist thing. Patrick’s face looked beautifully symmetrical, and he wasn’t hurting. It wasn’t bad news, or this whole conversation would be different. Had Patrick _won something?_ He had no idea. Honestly.

“I have no idea. Honestly.”

“My parents. Are going. Away for. The weekend.”

David _felt_ his eyes go wide.

“Please, please, _please_ do not be kidding me right now.”

“I wouldn’t. God, David, I wouldn’t. Do you realize what this means?”

“Yes, everyone knows what ‘my parents are going away’ means. But we cannot discuss what it means at _school,_ first thing in the _morning,_ while I am wearing _these particular pants,_ ” David said, finishing the sentence under his breath.

Patrick laughed. “That’s not actually … well, I mean, yes, actually that is, but …”

“I don’t mean to rush you.”

“David, this is not rushing. I am in love with you, and we are one hundred percent on the same page, even though we don’t talk about it a lot.” He moved to whisper almost silently in David’s ear. “The same— _god,_ David—the same _naked_ page.”

David needed to look around, to make sure no one could hear this clearly incendiary speech from his buttoned-down boyfriend. He felt like his whole face was on fire. _This weekend._

But Patrick had apparently moved on from the topic of _what this means._ “Um. Yes. But. First.” He took a deep breath and shook his head like he literally needed to clear the cobwebs out of it.

“I was thinking we should have a party.”

“Will the theme be ‘clichés,’ Patrick?”

“Yes. The theme will be ‘high school party with the parents out of town.’ I don’t even care. I’ve been here since the fall, I know people, I _like_ people, people like _me,_ and I want to have a bunch of them over. No one who will, like, steal irreplaceable antique family photos from my parents or write on the walls, just people who will play drinking games and have some jello shots. Pizza, wings, popcorn. Just _people._ ”

David had to admit this had a certain appeal. None of the parties his parents had had when he was a kid had had _people._ They had had _personages._ They had had photographers. Chefs. Waiters. Performers. One time, they had had reindeer.

“Will there be reindeer?”

“It’s February, David. You can’t rent reindeer in February. It’s antler molting season. Do you know _anything_ about party planning?”

David had literally seen the best party planners in the world at work. But.

“Not this kind of party,” he admitted. “I went to private school before I moved here, but all I remember is models and teen actors lounging around in their bras and thongs, taking Polaroids of themselves all night.”

“That’s what we’ll do next time. Keep it in your back pocket. This time let’s do my idea.”

“Will there be a salad bowl of E?”

“There will not. Not enough lead time.”

Patrick started to walk toward their English class, but stopped.

“Jesus, what was your life. Did you really go to a party that had _reindeer?_ ”

“No. We _hosted_ it.”

The Brewers left on Friday during school, so when David and Stevie got to the house in the late afternoon, David with his Ghurka overnight bag in hand, they had free rein to get ready for the party. Patrick had gotten vodka from somewhere and made two big trays of jello shots, yellow and orange and red and green. David turned up his nose at them at first, but Patrick basically shoved one into his mouth, and he decided they were in fact “very nice.”

Patrick had invited all their usual friends, plus a bunch of people he’d somehow met without David noticing.

This was mystifying. When, exactly, had Patrick had time to meet other people? Did Patrick _spend time_ with these people?

“Patrick, who are the people you invited?”

“People from school, David. People from our classes, people from lunch. Not, like, the whole eleventh and twelfth grade, but _people._ ”

“But you and I have the same classes.”

“Yes. You know all these people.”

“I really don’t think I do.”

“Have another jello shot, David.”

“Yeah, you might have to make more of those.”

David had another jello shot and pretended to help move the living room furniture out to the walls. He actually _did_ help when it was time to take all the breakable stuff up to Patrick’s parents’ bedroom and lock the door. Mrs. Brewer actually had nice taste, if it ran just slightly kitschy. There was an amazing little porcelain figurine of a bluebird with human legs that made David positively giddy with joy for the three minutes he had it in his hand to carry it upstairs.

They ordered pizza and wings. Patrick made popcorn. Stevie made sure all the Brewers’ liquor was hidden, then smiled her Stevie-magic smile and produced several bottles of her own from absolutely nowhere. It wasn’t quite a bar they had set up, but there were jello shots and red wine and vodka and tequila, and it would be fine. They just had to make sure no one drove home who shouldn’t, and that there wasn’t _too_ much noise.

Patrick said the neighbors on one side were a couple whose ages totaled at least 170, and they couldn’t hear a thing, and that the house on the other side was for sale and no one was living there. The house behind Patrick’s had little kids, though, so he had to put a sign on the kitchen door saying _Backyard off limits!!_ and hope for the best. David was just glad no one would go out and start asking questions about the hamster massacre.

They’d told people to show up around eight, and at seven-thirty Patrick turned on the music and stood in front of David.

“Hi. Dance with me.”

_Any time. Always._ “If you absolutely insist.”

“I could dance with Stevie.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

They put their arms around each other and swayed to a couple of songs, barely moving their feet. By the end of the second song they’d given up on even pretending to dance and were just standing in the middle of the empty living room making out. David pressed harder up against Patrick and Patrick let out a soft moan. David knew Patrick was just as affected as he was. _Are those your keys in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me,_ David thought to himself, preposterously. There weren’t keys in Patrick’s pocket any more than there were in his own. Patrick didn’t seem to be able to look at David. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deep breaths, to calm down before anyone walked in, and David gently kissed his eyelids and leaned down to kiss at his ear, summoning his courage to whisper one word— _tomorrow._ Patrick’s breath hitched and his hands clutched at David’s sweater, and he pulled away just a little. But he came back, and he breathed the word _tomorrow_ into David’s hair.

They broke apart with difficulty when the music changed to _Very Much Not a Song to Accompany Quiet Promises,_ by ’90s Boy Band, and a minute later the doorbell rang. Food was here, and food was almost as good as what they’d been doing. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Antique photos are the one thing you can’t replace!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0dbJHppgrHc) (This is the only John Mulaney reference in this entire fic, which I think shows an amazing level of self-control on my part.)
> 
> Little bluebird with human legs from the dress print in photo 6 of 7 on [this page](https://fashionmagazine.com/wellness/dan-levy-etsy-design-awards/). It comes up again later, but you don’t really need to know what it looks like beyond the description I’ve given here. (Actually, future readers, in case that link breaks, [I saved the image here](http://www.kostia.net/pics/noemiah-bluebird-dress.jpg). Because I’m afraid you’re imagining Mordecai from _Regular Show,_ and that is not the vibe.)


	10. Chapter 10

People had started showing up, and David was amazed to see that Patrick did, in fact, know them all. He knew their names; he knew who was dating who and who had just broken up. He kept people eating and drinking and laughing, he put Cards Against Humanity out on the dining room table, he had Stevie start _The Princess Bride_ on the living room TV, and it was all actually pretty skillfully done.

It wasn’t the reindeer room, of course. It wasn’t Paul Schaffer accompanying David’s mom and pretending they were friends. It wasn’t Wolfgang Puck in the main kitchen making venison canapés with cranberries and foie gras. It was jello shots and _you killed my father, prepare to die,_ and just kids laughing. It was _better._

Patrick started a game of Never Have I Ever by the fireplace, and David went over to join it just as the door opened and Alexis came in. She was wearing what could _charitably_ be called a short dress, and he prayed to whatever powers could hear him that no one took any compromising pictures of her. He wanted to put a sign around her neck saying _I AM ONLY FIFTEEN,_ and prepared to spend the rest of the party guarding her. He actually breathed a sigh of relief when Ted came in behind her. Ted was ridiculous, but Ted was crazy for Alexis. He’d look out for her.

However, Ted didn’t look like his usual responsible self. He seemed to be in an _excellent_ mood. David suspected there’d been a little pregaming chez Mullens, and hoped Alexis wasn’t partaking. But she looked happy, and maybe that was good.

“Hi!” exclaimed Ted.

“Hi!” responded most of the room. Everyone knew Ted. Ted was one of the beautiful people, and in high school you pretty much had to know who the beautiful people were, just to protect yourself. Then Ted would make an animal pun, and you would realize that he was completely benign. Like that bright-colored snake that wasn’t poisonous but looked almost exactly like the one that would straight up kill you.

Ted caught David’s eye and came over to put his arm around his shoulders. “Heard the great university news, big guy! Congratulations!” He seemed to notice the people around the fireplace. “What’s the game?”

“Never Have I Ever!” answered a brunette girl David could swear he’d never seen before.

“Well, you know what I say,” said Ted, grinning. “ _Toucan_ play at that game!”

There was a chorus of groans, someone called out “Never have I ever started a drinking game with a pun even a four-year-old would think was lame!” and Ted good-naturedly swallowed a jello shot.

By the third or fourth round, Alexis was the one in the middle, and she started _tormenting_ David.

“Never have I ever pretended to be a pizza delivery boy so I could get into Jared Leto’s Halloween party.”

“You’re a bitch,” said David, as he took a drink from his wine glass—well, from his wine Solo cup.

Stevie decided it was her turn, completely not in keeping with the rules.

“Never have I ever eaten out of the garbage!”

“You are _also_ a bitch,” said David, taking another drink.

He turned to Patrick. “As a participant, if we don’t change the game soon, I’m gonna get very drunk.”

“I’m sorry, David. When I suggested the game I didn’t expect that you’d be drinking _quite_ so much.” He shook his head in disappointment. “Eating out of the garbage?”

“Okay, I did that in front of you.”

The game shifted to Spin the Bottle, mostly because people wanted to sit down, and David and Stevie had apparently emptied the cheap Cabernet she’d brought, providing the equipment.

Alexis spun, and the bottle landed on Ted somehow.

“Awww!” she squealed, and Ted pecked her on the lips.

“My turn! Alright, who’s the lucky lady?”

Ted’s turn spun for a while before stopping, pointing somewhere between David and Stevie.

“That’s offensive,” said David, because neither he nor Stevie was, in fact, a _lady._

“Respin!” called Alexis.

“No, no, no no, don’t be so _shellfish,_ I know exactly who it landed on!” And Ted was crawling across the circle, and Ted had his hands on David’s head, and Ted was kissing him, and people were laughing and cheering.

A moment later, Patrick got up, and Alexis got up, and Ted called for more jello shots, and Stevie wasn’t paying any attention to David, so David was instantly a little bored.

So he got up too, and went over to where his boyfriend and his sister were both standing with their arms crossed, not smiling.

“What’s going on here?”

“Mmm,” said Alexis, “things got _effed,_ and we’re not having fun anymore.” Her leg twitched like she’d wanted to stomp her foot at the end of that sentence and had stopped herself at the last second.

David turned to Patrick. “You’re not having fun?”

“I don’t know, David. Sure.”

“What exactly did I do wrong here?”

“Oh, _I don’t know, David,_ ” muttered Alexis, “maybe it was that time you _kissed my boyfriend._ ”

Patrick nodded. “I think it was that time you kissed her boyfriend.”

“Okay, _he_ kissed _me!_ And I was just told to have fun, so I played the game. I’m sorry that the bottle landed on me.”

“Technically it landed _between_ you and Stevie. And … I just wonder how you would react if the tables were turned.”

“Yeah, David,” said Alexis. “Like, what would you do if Patrick and I suddenly kissed at a party?”

“I wouldn’t care.”

“You’re lying.”

“Is that what needs to happen here? You guys need to kiss?”

“Let’s not be dramatic” came out at the same time as “Yeah, maybe it does.”

Patrick and Alexis looked at each other in shock. Apparently up until that point they’d thought they were on the same page. “By all means,” said David, with a generous gesture between them.

And Patrick and Alexis kissed each other with all the fiery passion of a dead squid being asked to kiss a downtown fire hydrant, and it was hilarious for a second and then it was gross, and then it was over, and people were still having a good time around them, and they all just sort of drifted apart. David went to play cards, Alexis told Ted it was time to go—“Okay, big guy!” came the answer—and Patrick made more popcorn and went to talk to a couple of girls David sort of almost recognized from Mrs. Schitt’s class.

And the party continued.

And the party ended. And Stevie bailed. So all that was left was David, and Patrick, and about forty-seven garbage bags, and they barely spoke two words to each other for a solid hour after the last guest left with the last safe driver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a short one. I don’t want to just recount canon dialogue for pages and pages, and I am too old to reliably describe the high school version of this party! I just needed the Ted kiss to make Patrick feel jealous in the next chapter.
> 
> I made up venison canapés and then didn’t know what to top them with. But [this recipe](https://eatsmarter.com/recipes/canapes-with-venison-cranberries-and-foie-gras) seems to be in character for Rose Family Version 1.0, yes?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have changed the rating from T to M. The boys are writing this themselves at this point, and they are seventeen and eighteen years old, and if you were ever their age, you know I really have no say over what they want to do.

“I’m just gonna take some garbage out. If I don’t come back, it’s probably because I’ve run off with Ted.”

“Thanks for the heads up.”

“We’re just gonna go for a ride, see where it takes us.”

“Okay,” said Patrick, dropping the bag he was holding. “You know what? Maybe I overreacted for a second. And Alexis didn’t help.”

“Alexis never helps.”

“So I didn’t _love_ seeing my boyfriend kissing some other guy.”

“Are you saying you were jealous?”

“I’m not playing this game with you.”

David was stalking closer.

“How jealous?”

“He’s … he’s a really cute guy.”

“Wait, were you jealous of _him,_ or jealous of _me?_ ”

Patrick hesitated. “…Both?”

David turned predatory, sensing an opportunity. “How jealous _are_ you? One to ten.”

Patrick was starting to smile, and David was still moving closer. “Nope.”

“Like, _enraged,_ or _fuming,_ or—”

By now they were inches apart. “Nope,” said Patrick, more quietly this time.

“Did you _sweat?_ ”

And the inches were gone, and Patrick’s mouth was on his, and _oh, god, they were in an empty house._ “Can we— _please_ , can we take the garbage out later?”

“We can _totally_ take the garbage out later.”

“Patrick. Can I come upstairs and see your stamp collection?”

Patrick laughed, his hands under David’s sweater and his head on his shoulder, his lips on his neck, and said, “You know, I don’t have one, but you can see _everything else_.”

By the time they got to Patrick’s room, David’s sweater was hanging off one arm, Patrick’s blue button-down shirt was gone, and the idea of being in an _empty house_ was the only thing either of them could think about.

“We said— _mmmm_ —we said _tomorrow._ ”

“It’s after midnight, isn’t it? It has to be after midnight. Please let it be after midnight.”

“Are you drunk? Am I still drunk?”

“I don’t think so. Here, stop. No, really, wait. Stop.”

David stopped. He took a full step back, discovered the state of his sweater, and made the decision to slowly take it off his second arm rather than put the first one back in. He folded it and put it on Patrick’s dresser, and then they were two boys without their shirts, breathing heavily and staring at each other.

“ _Are_ you still drunk?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so clear-headed in my life.”

“Me neither. I am—god, David, I am _dying_ to touch you.”

_“Don’t die.”_

Patrick’s hands on his waist were familiar by now. He’d had them up under David’s sweaters for ages. He’d stroked David’s back and sides, had felt the hair on his stomach, had seen most of it. And David had seen Patrick’s shirts unbuttoned all the way. But this was new. This was intentional, leading somewhere, intimate in a way that was completely novel.

“Turn around. I’ve never actually seen you before.”

David did, and then he took two rather brave steps forward and laid face-down on Patrick’s bed. He looked over his shoulder and smiled, then jerked his head as if to say, _come on then,_ and before he knew it Patrick was lying next to him, peppering kisses onto his shoulders. Patrick was leaning over him, licking little stripes down his spine. Patrick was a _genius,_ an absolute _savant,_ and David realized that lying on his stomach in his jeans was quickly becoming really uncomfortable.

“Patrick, I gotta move, come here, please.” He rolled onto his side and stretched his arms out, and then they were full of boyfriend, and their chests were pressed together, and it was _prophecy._ This was what it was always supposed to be. And this was only the beginning. He drew his head back and looked into Patrick’s eyes, finding them tear-filled as his own.

“I love you,” they said at the same time.

“I love you too,” they said at the same time.

And Patrick was on top of him then, kissing him hard, biting his bottom lip and licking his tongue, and their legs were slotted together, and they were moaning. David felt like this should be ridiculous—in the movies it always looked just a little ridiculous—but it wasn’t. It was transcendent. It was infinite. It felt like forever.

They reached for each other’s waistbands at the same time, and their eyes met, and they both nodded. And they realized getting someone else’s pants off is a little more difficult than getting your own pants off, so they pulled apart to fix that, and then they were in their underwear.

David realized Patrick had socks on, and as much as it physically _hurt_ him to do anything other than stare at Patrick’s body, instead he crawled closer to whisper in Patrick’s ear. “Sock feet are incorrect.” Patrick removed his socks at a speed previously unheard of for sock removal, and laughed. David liked that he laughed. He loved that this could be _fun._

They were back together in no time, and out of nowhere things seemed to calm down. David couldn’t quite remember ever having been so turned on before, and the little bit of clothes they were down to meant they really had no more secrets. But somehow at the same time they both seemed to agree to go slow, to learn each other’s bodies, and they spent endless minutes running hands over thighs and hips and chests, placing small, tender kisses in places they hadn’t actually seen before, always coming back to look into each other’s eyes, their shared tears smeared across both their faces.

It was Patrick who moved them forward, as it always had been. He slid a hand into the side of David’s black designer boxer briefs, and looked up for permission, and David nodded, and then Patrick’s hand was sliding down his thigh, and then he was naked. Patrick had on boxers, because Patrick was a funny old man in a beautiful young man’s body, and he laughed as David said so while he pulled them off of him.

And he stopped laughing as David pulled him on top of him, and a few more eternal moments later, Patrick sort of arched up as he tried to get his balance, and something shifted, and the _friction_ was like nothing either of them had ever felt before.

“David—”

“Oh, _god,_ baby, do that again, fucking do that again _right now_ —”

“Since when do you call me—oh, _Jesus fuck, why have we not been doing this for months_ —”

Soon Patrick’s mouth fell open, and his eyebrows went up, and his eyes closed just as they rolled back, and when David felt him let go, he thought _he loves me,_ and he let go too, and it felt totally unlike it did when he was alone, and nothing would ever be the same.

David recovered first, and he held Patrick’s face between his hands, and looked up at him with _awe._

“You are the most incredible person I have ever met. I am so in love with you, and I don’t think I will ever _not_ be in love with you, and—”

“No, no, stop, stop, David, that was _all you_. When I’m by myself, when I’m thinking about you—you know that, right? That I only ever think about you when I do it?” David nodded and tried to smile. Of course he knew that. “Pretty much every fucking day since we met, it’s you in my mind, and I thought … Christ, I thought I _knew._ I thought I knew what you were to me. I had _no idea._ ”

“Do you think … do you think, or, do you know, is it like that with anyone?” David asked, in a smaller voice than he’d intended. “I can’t believe I never even asked you, I just assumed … was that … I mean, _I_ never have, I guess I didn’t tell you that either, but did you ever—”

“No! No, no, I would have told you, I would have told you a million years ago. That was my first time coming with _anyone_. I never got anywhere near it with the girls I went out with at my old school. I touched some boobs—”

David made a _pffft_ sort of gesture with his hand. “We’ve all touched some boobs.”

“Right, well, but nothing more than that, and you’re pan, you got more out of it than I did. David, I didn’t have any doubt I was gay from the moment I laid eyes on you, but _good lord_ am I gay. I may be the gayest gay who ever gayed, despite the old man underwear and the incorrect shoes and the love of baseball.”

David laughed and hugged Patrick closer to him. This made him realize they hadn’t cleaned up at all, and _hello,_ there _was_ in fact a downside to this.

Patrick got up. There was a _sound_ when he peeled himself off of David, and they both dissolved into helpless laughter.

“Okay, mister gayest gay who ever gayed, I have no idea where shit is in your house, I guess we need a wet washcloth?”

“We could just take a shower.”

“One unbelievably amazing sex milestone at a time, please? I may actually die if you are both naked _and_ wet at the same time.”

Patrick drew in a deep breath, and David saw various parts of him twitch.

“Right. Yes. Washcloth. Be right back.” He walked away, into the hall, naked, and David got to watch.

“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave!” he joked.

“And you always get to watch me come back to you,” came the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This kind of got away from me. Is it normal to cry like a crazy person when writing and editing and re-re-re-reading love scenes? Because I’ve never really done this before, and I currently look like I’ve been watching the end of _Call Me by Your Name_ or _The Fault in Our Stars,_ or maybe like I heard about a puppy dying while saving a kitten from a fire. I am a fucking wreck, and I am honestly asking if this is normal.
> 
> Love you, awesome nerds.


	12. Chapter 12

David dreamed of flying. He dreamed of that feeling he’d felt in the car before the first time he kissed Patrick, of the wind blowing from inside, of the air making everything feel electrified. He dreamed of walking with his feet not quite touching the ground, of his hair just barely brushing the clouds, of falling and falling and never quite feeling gravity.

Patrick was there. Patrick was _always_ there. He was flying with him, or he was on the ground watching, laughing a little, shaking his head in disbelief. At one point he called out to David, but David couldn’t hear him, and when he came closer all Patrick had been wanting to say was _I miss you, come back._ He laughed and floated away, but he could still hear Patrick’s voice. _Come back. I miss you._ And then: _Wake up._

He became aware of Patrick’s voice, Patrick’s lips on the shell of his ear, whispering “wake up, I miss you,” and all of a sudden he was awake, and then he was being kissed. Waking up in Patrick’s bed was the best kind of waking up, and David was just thinking today could be _perfect._

Maybe Patrick could somehow make pancakes appear.

“Ready for breakfast?” Patrick asked, after the kissing had gone on long enough that David’s stomach rumbled.

“Mmm. I would _love_ to have breakfast with you. Can we have pancakes in bed?”

Patrick laughed. “I don’t know if we have the stuff for pancakes, but we can look. I know we have eggs and bacon. Or we can go out for breakfast—”

“No! We are spending this entire day here, just you and me.”

“ _Are_ we, now?

David gulped. In his head, this unlikely weekend had had a schedule: the party, then cleaning up, then their first sleepover, then maybe their first _sleepover,_ then just pretty much movies and cuddling on the couch and eating. But he realized he’d never actually cleared that schedule with the other person involved, and of course they were already off it, because they’d stopped cleaning and went right to _sleeping over_. Which was _fine._

But the other person should probably have some input into the rest of it. “Um. We can do whatever you want.”

“I would _love_ to spend the entire day—and the _entire night_ ,” at which point Patrick nuzzled into David’s neck and David moved his head so Patrick’s lips could get at wherever they wanted—“and all of tomorrow, and it’s Family Day on Monday, so we have _that day too,_ until my folks get home—with just you, and just me, and pancakes if we have the stuff for pancakes.”

“Mmmm. But?”

Patrick looked up from David’s chest, where he had reached so far with the nuzzling. “What? No but.”

“Oh. It sounded like you were all, ‘I would love to blah blah _but_ ,’ and then there’d be a reason we can’t. Like homework or you promised your dad you’d fix the roof while he’s away or you want to go play baseball or something.”

Patrick sighed. “Okay. You need to have more confidence in the fact that the naked guy in bed with you right now actually _wants_ to spend time with you.”

“I do know that!”

“Well, you know full well we don’t have any homework over the long weekend, because you and I have all the same classes.”

“I suppose.” David pulled an arm out from under the blankets specifically so he could wave it dismissively.

“My dad _did_ ask me to rewire the whole house and move a piano from the basement to the attic, but I’m gonna blow that off so I can have sex with my boyfriend instead.” He started nuzzling again.

David saw this for the avoidance tactic it was, and enjoyed it for only three or four eternities before speaking up.

“You didn’t deny wanting to play baseball.”

Patrick sighed again. “You don’t play baseball in February. I’m going to try out for the team, but that doesn’t start for another couple of weeks.”

“A _couple of weeks?_ ” David sat straight up and tried to look indignant, despite _knowing_ what the state of his hair must be. He did not like this piece of news. “Once you’re a star baseball player, there is _no way_ we’ll be able to spend time together. I thought baseball was in the _summer!”_

“Well, it starts in the spring. And _high school_ baseball ends when the school year ends.” Patrick looked a little guilty for not mentioning this before, and also a little mystified that David hadn’t put it together, and also a little mad. “And I’m not a _star._ I might not even make the team.”

“Of course you’ll make the team. The school only has a few hundred kids. It’s a co-ed team.” David paused. “Why do you look a little mad?”

“Because you’re the most amazing person in the world and I love you, but I _knew_ you would be like this about it.” He sat up too, and he ran his fingers through David’s hair while he added, “I _really_ miss playing baseball, and it would be really good if you were there to love it with me.”

“I’ll try.” Then David thought of something explicitly frightening. “Jesus. Do _I_ have to play baseball?”

Patrick laughed so hard he fell out of the bed.

They made their way to the kitchen, a little more than half dressed and a lot more than half hungry.

“What do we need to make pancakes? My mom has all kinds of stuff in here.”

“Well, pancake mix, I guess. If we don’t have that we’d have to look up an actual recipe and we’d need flour—and milk and eggs, I think?” David couldn’t believe he wasn’t actually sure where pancakes came from. Pancakes just sort of _were._ “Butter for sure. And maple syrup.”

Patrick looked at him. “Are you seriously asking me if there is maple syrup in my house?”

“Yeah?”

“Worst Canadian ever. Yes, there is syrup. There is also pancake mix, so you can calm down about a recipe.”

“In my defense, I lived in the States for several of my formative years.”

“That’s not really a defense for anything. Let’s make pancakes.”

So they made pancakes. Some of them were misshapen, a few were burned, but they were all perfect. David caught himself thinking about _someday. This could be every day someday._

After breakfast, there was some time spent with their kitchen chairs pushed together so they could be closer, and then there was a little while spent on the kitchen floor, which started with David licking syrup off his finger while making eye contact, and proceeded through Patrick _pretending_ to lick syrup off David’s stomach, where in fact no syrup was.

Eventually they finally finished cleaning up from the party. Someone had stuffed all their empty little jello shot cups between the cushions of the couch. David shook his head sadly when this was discovered.

“Why did you invite some savage who doesn’t understand the concept of a _garbage bin?_ ”

“I have no idea. But if they had this many jello shots, at least they had a good time. I guess that’s what matters.” Patrick shoved the couch back to where it was supposed to be, and surveyed the living room.

“Don’t forget the breakable stuff we put in your parents’ room.”

“Right, okay. Let’s go deal with that.”

When he thought David wasn’t looking, Patrick moved the weird little bluebird figurine into his own room, putting it amid the clutter on his dresser. David didn’t say anything. Maybe Patrick thought it was cool like he did and wanted it with his own stuff.

There was an argument about exactly where some of the knick-knacks had been, but David won by pulling out his phone and showing Patrick that he’d actually taken pictures so they could get it right. Patrick laughed at the ingenuity, but David shrugged it off. “Not my first illicit house party. At least your parents’ stuff isn’t, like, ancient Mesopotamian fertility idols.”

When the last of the garbage was out and the last of the furniture replaced, David asked, “Are we done with this now? Can we get back to cleaning syrup off me?”

“You don’t have any syrup on you. I made sure.”

“You didn’t, um, check everywhere.”

Patrick’s mouth fell open. “Do you … do you need me to check more places?”

David nodded like someone had just asked him _do you want these Neil Barrett sweaters for free,_ and Patrick licked his lips.

“My pleasure.”

Upstairs, they fell, kissing, onto Patrick’s bed. Considering they’d never gotten fully dressed to begin with, it was easy to get back to the state they’d been in when they woke up.

Patrick pulled back from kissing David’s neck and looked down his body. “I can’t believe how hot you are,” he said quietly.

David wanted to hide a little, self-conscious about how he looked. “I’m not, though. I’m all hairy, and I haven’t showered or shaved or done anything to my skin today, and—”

“You think I care? I _love_ your body, whether it’s moisturized or not. It has _you_ in it.”

Patrick ran his hand down David’s throat, then his chest, stopping to tangle his fingers in David’s chest hair. “I like this part,” he whispered.

He continued down, detouring to caress David’s side. “I like this part, where my hands land when we dance.”

And then he locked eyes with David and lowered his hand a little more, touching David where he hadn’t yet. And his voice dropped to a whisper.

“I like this part too.”

And David surged up and pulled him close, kissing him hard, gently biting Patrick’s lip between his teeth, and lowered his own hand to take hold of him, _devastated_ at the trust he was given. He reveled in the experience of touching Patrick, of pleasing him.

Patrick moaned, his own grip tightened, and time stretched into nothing. It was even better than the night before. Daylight came in through the window blinds, illuminating every strand of Patrick’s hair, every lash on his closed eyelids, every angle of his face, and David arched his back, pressed up into that stroking hand, and cried out Patrick’s name when he felt them both fall apart.

Patrick was kissing him. His face felt wet with tears, _again,_ and Patrick was kissing them away.

“Do you think I’m going to cry every time we have sex?” David asked, completely serious.

“Does it bother you that you’re doing that?”

“You’re not crying this time. You cried a little last night.” David swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’m scared you’ll think you’re hurting me, or I’m sad.”

“Feelings come out in all sorts of ways. Yours tend to leak out your face. I think it’s adorable.”

“I get that you’re trying to make me feel better, but _honestly,_ do you think this is going to keep happening? Do you think it’s _normal?_ ”

Patrick didn’t say anything for a moment. He grabbed a corner of the sheet and cleaned their hands and David’s stomach off a little bit, and looked like he was considering his words carefully.

“I think,” he started, “that you feel things strongly. I think that I am _so lucky_ that I get to be one of the things you feel strongly about. I think that however you express your feelings is _totally fine._ And I don’t think crying during sex is any weirder than laughing or sneezing or anything else. It’s normal _for you,_ and everything about you is amazing.”

David was so touched at how carefully Patrick thought about his feelings. “Thank you.” He sniffled a little. _Gotta lighten the mood._ “Honestly. Outstanding answer. A-plus.”

Patrick beamed. “I like getting A-pluses from you.”

They snuggled together a little, enjoying the warm bed, the quiet day, and the sunlight.

David got restless, and he really did want a shower. Patrick whined a little when he got out of bed, but let him go.

“I’m going to go wash up, and then maybe we could watch a movie or something? It’s weird not to have any plans for the next two days.”

“Do you need us to have plans? We can make plans.”

“Think about it while I’m in the shower, and then I’ll think about it while _you’re_ in the shower, and then we’ll have plans.”

“We can shower at the same time.”

“This again? No. I have to put conditioner in my hair, and it’s a whole procedure. No time for shenanigans.”

Patrick laughed. “No, calm down, there’s more than one shower. My dad said one of the reasons he and my mom picked this house was it has some kind of fancy new water heater. We can never run out of hot water. So you go in the hall bathroom, and I’ll use my parents’ shower, and then we’ll have plans sooner.”

“Your parents have excellent foresight.”

“I don’t think this situation was what they were planning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Family Day is a newish Canadian holiday when they would in fact have a day off school (again, _now,_ not back when David and Patrick really would have been in high school). I’ve fudged it, because the Monday in the story is February 27 (thanks to WolframAlpha, which lets you search on things like “119 weekdays after September 1”), and Family Day is the third Monday in February, which means the latest it can be is the 21st. Not that anyone asked.
> 
> Also, yes, thanks for asking, I _did_ cry writing the physical stuff again. I think I’ve decided it’s normal _for me._ Thank goodness Patrick understands.


	13. Chapter 13

The hot shower was heavenly. David took his time; at the motel, there always seemed to be a countdown clock to finish before the water ran cold, but here, it seemed the supply was in fact endless.

When he came back into Patrick’s bedroom, skin and hair finally back in the state they belonged, he found Patrick fully dressed in jeans and a sweater (green, not blue, amazingly). David draped his towel over Patrick’s desk chair, marveling at his own lack of embarrassment at being naked, and got dressed in joggers and a fuzzy sweater from his overnight bag. _How did we get to this point so fast?_ he thought. _I would trust this person with anything._

“Well?” asked Patrick while David was dressing. “Plans?”

“I thought we could watch a movie.”

“That’s it? Forty…” Patrick checked his phone. “…eight minutes in the shower, and ‘we could watch a movie’ is all you came up with.”

David pouted extravagantly and proved his forty-eight minutes weren’t wasted. “A movie, which you get a vote on, since it’s your house and all—”

“Truly selfless.”

“—and a charcuterie board for our late lunch, depending on what you have. I know I saw cheese and salami in the fridge. Maybe a drink? There’s another bottle of Stevie’s not-that-terrible wine. Cuddling on the couch.”

“Growing on me.”

David felt brave. “Making sure the doors are still locked and the blinds are down. Picking a movie we’ve both seen before.”

“Because we’re going to get distracted?” Patrick’s eyes were closed; he was clearly imagining something distracting.

David finished getting dressed and kissed him on the forehead. “Come downstairs and let’s find out.”

The Brewers had not just salami and cheese, but salami and three _kinds_ of cheese. David even found sliced ham, grapes, pistachios, cherry tomatoes, and some kind of fancy fig jam from a local farm. It was already open, so he figured it was probably fair game.

“Your parents clearly know about some places I do not know about. We should go find out what else this farm has.” He thought for a minute. “It’s a shame there’s places around here that make things like fancy fig jam, and you just have to _know_ about them.”

He looked through six cupboards of plastic containers and kitchen gadgets before he found a wood serving tray in the back of one. It was engraved with a C, an M, and a B, and a date about twenty years ago. “Patrick, is this tray special? I think it might have been a wedding gift. Can I use it?”

Patrick looked at the tray. “Oh, no, we used to use that all the time. My grandpa made it. My mom thought she lost it in the move. She’ll be happy you found it!”

“And it’s okay if I artistically arrange cheese and crackers and fruit on it so we can eat off it and then have sex near it?”

Patrick sputtered, then doubled over laughing.

“Fuck. I guess I _did_ ask you to make a plan.” He shook himself all over to clear his head. “But yeah, I think that would probably be fine. I’ll be crazy embarrassed the next time my mom wants to serve cheese, but it’s fine. I’ll just make _you_ explain it to her.”

The movie they ended up putting on was _Ten Things I Hate About You,_ which they had in fact both seen before. Patrick wanted to look at Heath Ledger and sigh, and David wanted to look at Julia Stiles _and_ Heath Ledger and sigh.

“I hate that he’s gone. Like, honestly hate it,” said Patrick at one point. “He could have been in so much more amazing stuff.”

David put his wine glass down on the coffee table, then took Patrick’s and put it down too. “I know. I’m sorry, baby.”

Patrick grinned. “There it is again. Since when do you call me—”

David again interrupted that sentence, this time by straddling Patrick on the couch and kissing him hard. “Since I wanted to change the subject and since I decided it kind of turns me on.”

“Oh. Then kiss me again. Baby.”

David did, but then shook his head. “Nope. Only me. Not you. You have to come up with your own word.”

Patrick pulled David’s sweater over his head and started kissing his chest. His hands wandered into the back of David’s jeans. “Sweetheart,” he whispered.

He ran his hands up David’s back and pulled them closer together. “Honey?” he asked.

“Veto,” said David, breathily, his mouth on Patrick’s neck.

Patrick pulled his own sweater off so they could be closer still. “Pumpkin,” he said, smiling into David’s skin and knowing what the reaction would be.

“I swear I will break up with you if you call me Pumpkin,” said David indignantly.

“No you won’t.” Patrick started to lean over, pulling David down with him. “Sugarplum.”

David reveled in the feeling of being on top, pressing his weight down onto his strong, solid boyfriend. He was surprised he didn’t feel awkward being bigger than Patrick.

“You didn’t veto that one,” said Patrick as he started to undo his jeans.

“I’m distracted.”

“I might … here, move a sec … I might be out of ideas.”

“You might be out of _pet name_ ideas, but I bet you have some good ideas.”

“I think you’re the idea man in this relationship, David.”

David hesitated, then thought, _what the hell._ “I might be. I bought lube on Amazon.”

Patrick sat up under him, almost clocking their heads together.

“Why am I just hearing of this _now?_ ”

David swallowed nervously. “I was afraid you might think … I thought maybe you’d think I was asking you to…”

Patrick got it. “ _Oh._ Um. I mean … I don’t think I’m ready for that—”

“ _See?_ Me neither! This is why I didn’t say anything! It’s just, I read some stuff, and supposedly it’s way better than lotion or shampoo or spit or whatever just for, like, stuff rubbing against other stuff.” David was staring at the floor. How on earth did people talk about this stuff without going _insane?_

Patrick didn’t look insane. Patrick looked curious.

“So what you’re saying is…” He thought for a moment. “We could have done all that stuff last night and this morning, but _better?_ ”

David giggled. “Yeah. Slippery, or whatever.” It was easier when it was funny.

Patrick’s eyes went wide, and his mouth dropped open, and he said, quietly and thoughtfully, “I think I’m going to go get a beach towel for the couch.”

David nodded. A lot. Patrick was, as established, a genius. He ran to get his bag, then he came back, and the rest of the movie played to a very inattentive room.

“Why did you move that little bird thing into your room?”

Patrick was sitting in the corner of the couch, and David was curled up under his arm, feeling half like a lap cat and half like a sex god. Patrick had made a sort of _nnnnnggggg_ sound a little while before, and David was just playing it on repeat in his head—it was the best sound in the world—when the thought of the little figurine popped up out of nowhere.

David was not good at being quietly curious about things.

Patrick was a little surprised at the question. “What? Oh, when we were putting stuff back before? The blue ceramic bird, with the freaky legs?”

“Yeah. I saw you put it on your dresser. Is it yours? I figured it was your mom’s. She has funny taste.”

“It _is_ hers. I just noticed you seemed to like it, and I wanted to ask her about it.”

“If she remembers where she got it, will you tell me? I kind of think wherever it came from probably has more awesome stuff like that. I mean, it’s a bird with legs. What if they have, like, birds with flames, or birds with mohawks, or birds with lightning bolts?”

“Those are just sweaters you have.”

David kissed him. “Thank you for knowing my wardrobe, but you know what I mean. Just weird stuff I might like.”

“You like _me._ Am _I_ weird?”

“The fact you’re _not_ weird makes you the weirdest thing I like.”

Patrick laughed. “I like that.” He kissed David and hugged him closer. “Truth is, I wanted to ask her where it’s from so I can see if I can get you something from there. Of course I’m sure it was a gift and she has no idea, or it’s a store in fucking Saskatchewan, or it’s a little artist with no website.”

David was touched and surprised. “For me? You were thinking about a present for me?”

“Well, yeah, of course I was,” said Patrick, shaking his head like this not-obvious thing was obvious. “For your birthday all I got you was dinner, and you weren’t even my boyfriend yet, and then I was with my grandparents at Christmas, and I liked the idea of surprising you with something I already knew you’d like.”

David tucked his head into Patrick’s neck, unable to meet his eyes.

“Although,” said Patrick, “now that you _know_ that, it’s not a surprise. But I’ll ask her anyway.”

David’s voice was muffled as he spoke into Patrick’s skin. “Why do you do stuff like that? Why are you so … thoughtful, or _kind,_ or whatever?”

Patrick pulled David’s face up and kissed him. “I love you, that’s why. And that’s how people are _supposed_ to be. Eventually you’ll get that.”

“I don’t understand how I get to have this,” David wondered. “Where did you _come from?_ ”

Patrick grinned. “Kitchener. But my mom’s family’s from Calgary.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” But he felt better. He pulled Patrick’s warm, strong arm across his shoulders, cuddled into his side, and felt better still.

“Let’s watch another movie and totally miss the ending.”

Patrick just laughed. Which was the best sound in the world.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is basically just a bunch of episodes in their lives at this point, not really a cohesive story, but I have an ending written and I just need to get there. And I’m enjoying watching them live through this school year. I hope you are too. Thanks for reading along. Enjoy Patrick's birthday date!

The rest of the weekend, which David was privately calling _the sex weekend_ in his head, seemed to go on forever but somehow end too soon. Monday morning, Patrick’s mom called to say they’d be home in a couple of hours, and Patrick had her on speaker, so in the background David could hear Mr. Brewer say, “Kick people out! Clean up from the party!”

When Patrick hung up the phone, David took a break from carefully packing his sweaters to ask, “Did they _know_ you were going to have a party?”

Patrick laughed. “I think they might have suspected. I mean, they did leave me alone for a long weekend. But nothing’s broken or anything. I guess I’ll see if I’m in trouble when they get home.”

David sighed. “Don’t take this wrong, I like your parents just fine, but I wish they weren’t coming home.”

“I know. The last couple days have been pretty amazing. It’s like, this is what it would be like if we lived together, just us.”

“Except only if we didn’t need to go to work or school. And we don’t really know how to buy a house or rent an apartment or pay bills or fix things or anything.”

“Right. Except that. I guess we’ll figure it out someday.”

David smiled a _someday_ smile and held Patrick’s gaze a little longer than he’d thought he could. _Someday._

On his way out, David kissed Patrick like he wouldn’t see him again for weeks. “I love you,” he said quietly. Then: “Don’t forget to move that piano before your dad gets home. Sorry I can’t help, but, you know, my sciatica’s acting up.”

Patrick was laughing when he closed the door in David’s face.

On Tuesday, it was the one-hundred-twenty-seventh day of school, and it was also the last day of February, and David had a realization.

He had no idea when Patrick was turning eighteen.

This was an _unforgiveable_ oversight on his part. He had a boyfriend. His boyfriend would be having a birthday. His boyfriend needed to have an _exemplary_ birthday. His birthday had featured their first kiss, which was going to be hard to beat. Dinner needed to be much better. No dubious mozzarella sticks at the café for Patrick.

But he had to find out when it was.

He told his econ teacher he needed to go to the bathroom and used his hall pass to try sweet-talking the secretary in the school office. No dice. She had _we have to obey the privacy laws_ and _he’s a minor, I couldn’t tell you his personal information even if he did say it was okay_ and _shouldn’t you be in class_ all lined up.

He tried to pickpocket Patrick’s wallet so he could look at his driver’s license. But Patrick caught him, of course, and he had to pretend he’d just been groping.

He asked Alexis to pickpocket Patrick’s wallet. Alexis had always been an excellent pickpocket. But she said Patrick’s jeans were too tight, and there was no way she’d be able to do it without him noticing. David was surprised to find that there was a downside to Patrick’s jeans being tight.

He thought about asking Stevie to use her magic to find out. He had no idea what Stevie could possibly do to find out. Then it occurred to him that she’d probably just _ask Patrick,_ which would be terrible and make it completely obvious that David didn’t know. So he didn’t dare ask Stevie.

Eventually he decided he was going to have to go to the source. Literally. He called Patrick’s house that evening and hoped hoped hoped that one of his parents would answer the phone.

“Hello? If you’re a telemarketer, please just hang up.”

“Mrs. Brewer? It’s David Rose.”

“Oh, that’s a surprise! David, I’m sorry. No one ever calls the landline who’s a real person.” She paused and giggled. “I didn’t know anyone your age even knew landlines existed!”

“I know, I’m sorry for bothering you. I didn’t have yours or Mr. Brewer’s cell number, or I would have just texted.”

“It’s no bother, David. What’s up?”

“This is embarrassing, but I just realized I don’t know when Patrick’s birthday is. And I’d like to surprise him, so I couldn’t just ask, like a normal not-insane person.”

“Normal not-insane people are underrated, sweetie. It’s coming up. It’s the fourteenth.”

David panicked. “Of _this_ month? March fourteenth? As in, two weeks from now?”

“That’s right. He hasn’t mentioned having a party or anything. Do you two have plans?”

“We will! Thanks so much, Mrs. Brewer.”

“My pleasure.” She paused. “And David? I’m so glad he has you.”

David was surprised and touched. “Thank you, Mrs. Brewer, that’s a really sweet thing to say.”

David borrowed the Lincoln and went to what felt like every retail establishment within forty miles of Schitt’s Creek. Not one of them had _anything_ that had a quality that said _Patrick,_ or _David loves Patrick,_ or even the correct particular brand of _I love you._

In the back of a used bookstore he found a sex manual from the ’80s that he thought would be a sort of not-quite-funny gag gift. Then he opened it, and it fell open to a section showing detailed instructions for something they hadn’t tried yet. Obviously buying the book, facing an actual human with it in his hands, was out of the question. He looked around the area, decided no one was going to come looking for him, and sat down on the floor with his phone to take pictures of the pages. It couldn’t hurt, he figured. Knowledge is power, and all that.

Then, in a consignment store, on his third trip around the floor, running his hand along the rack, he felt something that stood out. It turned out to be an incredibly soft sweater in a shade of blue Patrick somehow didn’t already have. Patrick already had so many blue shirts and sweaters, but one more couldn’t hurt.

He looked at the label in the sweater and was amazed to see it was actually cashmere. _Really? Here?_ It was priced like acrylic, and he caught himself wondering if he was being pranked somehow. He examined every inch of the sweater, and found it was raveled a little at the hem, but it was right on the seam, and if Family Sciences had taught him anything, it was how to fix a seam. Yes. This would do nicely.

Paying for it, he babbled at the bored cashier about it being a gift. He was nervous about getting caught. Like he was _stealing_ it, not just getting a killer deal because the person doing the price tags hadn’t known what they had. He walked out with the sweater in a bag and felt like a strange new version of himself. He was partially Original David Rose, who had excellent taste in clothes and bought cashmere sweaters because they would be beautiful on other people, but he was also New David Rose, who could exult in getting a bargain because he actually knew what money was worth. It was a nice feeling.

On the way home, thoughts of Patrick in his soft new sweater were suddenly interrupted by thoughts of the book, and David had to fidget and adjust a little. He couldn’t give Patrick sex for his birthday. That would be ridiculous. The sweater was the actual present. Right? Yes. Of course.

On the one-hundred-thirtieth day of grade twelve, David asked Patrick if he had plans for his birthday.

“It’s on a stupid Tuesday, so if you want to have a party I guess we should do it next weekend.”

“One, I didn’t know you knew my birthday was even coming up. Two, I don’t want to have a party. We just _had_ a party.”

“Won’t your folks think not having people over is weird?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure they know we had a party last weekend, they keep making little comments, but it doesn’t feel like we’re in trouble.”

“We? They knew I was there?”

“David, they’re adults, not morons. Obviously they know you were there.”

David just shook his head. “I cannot conceive of the relationship you have with your parents. Please don’t tell me you told them we …”

Patrick laughed. “Jesus, David. No. I like them just fine, they’re good people, but they’re still my mom and dad. God, no.”

Then he blushed a little. “Although there _were_ two sets of my sheets and all those towels in the laundry.”

David gasped. “I am never going to be able to look either of them in the eye again.”

“In any case,” said Patrick, changing the subject just as they reached the door of their French class, “no, no birthday party. Just take me on a birthday date.”

“Will do.” He leaned over to whisper in Patrick’s ear. “ _Baby._ ”

Patrick shuddered. “ _Tabarnak.”_

David spent a little too much money on fancy wrapping paper for the sweater, and a little too much more bribing Alexis to do his econ homework for him so he could take Patrick out on a Tuesday night.

“I’m your _younger_ sister. _You_ should be doing _my_ homework when one of us needs help.”

But she took the bribe.

He pulled up to the Brewers’ house in the Lincoln, and was just about to get out and ring the doorbell when Patrick came out and got in, beaming.

“Guess what?”

“You found a sale on blue button-down shirts?”

“I could go back in and change.”

“Into another blue button-down shirt? No, you’re adorable as is. What is it?”

Patrick grinned his shit-eating grin. “You didn’t have to pick me up!”

“It’s _your_ birthday, I’m not going to make you borrow your mom’s car so _I_ can take _you_ out to dinner.”

“No, that’s the news. You didn’t have to pick me up. Because it’s not my mom’s car anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She gave it to me for my birthday.”

David’s face lit up like Canada Day. “You are absolutely kidding me.”

“I am absolutely not. I got home from school and there was a new Volvo in the driveway, and my parents were home, and my mom said, ‘we bought a new car!’”

“But you said—”

“No, wait, let me finish. I go, ‘you bought me a new car?’ and they laughed at me _so hard,_ David, it kind of hurt my feelings, and then my dad’s like, ‘no, are we insane? We bought _Mom_ a new car, and you get the old one.’ So I get the old one. Which is totally fine, and which we now have _whenever we want it._ ” Patrick was practically glowing, he was so thrilled.

“Whenever we want it.”

“Whenever we want it, David.”

“Okay, this is exceptional news.”

“I _know!”_

“My present is going to be a huge letdown, and I _don’t even care._ ”

Patrick leaned over and kissed him. “I’m sure your present is perfect. But this is the last time we’ll have to borrow this behemoth of a car. Let’s make it worth it.”

And David thought that sounded like a good idea, and he hoped dinner didn’t drag on too long.

At the pretty-nice Indian place in Elmdale, they both made happy noises over samosas, split an enormous serving of butter chicken, and drank tiny sips of scalding-hot chai over sweet, sticky gulab jamun for dessert. It was lovely. David enjoyed every single bite, remembering eating like this and complaining about it when he was younger, and promising himself never to take it for granted again.

After dinner, a brief conversation resulted in the Lincoln being parked far off the beaten path, and soon they were holding each other close in the cavernous back seat.

“Dinner was wonderful.”

“I’m glad you liked it. I wasn’t sure if Indian food was going to be okay with you, but the place seemed nice enough to be special.”

“David, I know you think I never did anything before I met you, but I _have_ had Indian food before. And it _was_ special, and it _was_ nice, and it was a great dinner. So thank you.”

“Okay, okay.” David brushed away the compliment as though it was floating in the air. “I’m sorry for underestimating you. And you’re welcome.”

He took out his phone. “I found something while I was shopping for your gift, and I couldn’t buy it—you’ll see—but I took pictures.”

“I cannot imagine what this could be. Is it, like, alive?”

David snorted. “No. It’s … inexplicable. I was in this used bookstore, hoping maybe I could find something that called out to me, and I found this ancient book from like thirty years ago, and … well, look.” He passed Patrick the phone, open to the photos from the sex manual.

Patrick’s eyes went wide. He turned the phone sideways, swiped once, then twice, zoomed in, and impossibly he started to look even _more_ astonished.

“Holy fuck, David.”

“I don’t know about _holy,_ but, well, yeah.”

“This is bananas, and you are a ridiculous person. I can’t believe you sat in a bookstore and took _pictures_ of a book. Isn’t that stealing?”

“I’m pretty sure the copyright on this is expired. The _people_ in it are probably expired.”

“Well, I don’t want to _do_ that … yet … but, well, seeing instructions is … kind of hot.” Patrick was definitely blushing.

David thought he might also have been blushing. “I thought so too.” He shook his head. “Never mind. Like I said, I thought it was funny.”

Patrick leaned in to kiss him. “It’s okay that you didn’t find me a present.”

David pulled away and put on an extremely theatrical look of insulted bewilderment.

“ _Obviously_ I found you a present.”

He pulled an elaborately wrapped box from under the seat and handed it to Patrick. “Happy birthday.”

Patrick winked. “Based on the first thing, I can’t wait to see what _this_ is.”

He ripped it open—David winced at the demise of the fancy paper—and opened the box. He looked delighted. “Oh, this is perfect! There could not _be_ a more David Rose present than a sweater. Thank you.”

“It’s not just any sweater. Touch it.”

“It’s … wow, this is really soft.” Patrick’s smile faltered. “Is this … is this, like, a _David Rose_ sweater?”

David laughed. “You mean was it mine? No! For one thing, it’s not my color. And it’s not designer. But it _is_ cashmere, and I couldn’t believe I found it, and it was ripped a little, but I fixed it—”

“Wait. You _fixed_ it?”

“You took home ec with me. You could have fixed it. It was easy.”

“God, I love how smart you are.”

David let this go for once, but sort of preened inwardly before changing the subject away from his own competence. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. It’s amazingly soft, and it’s a great color, and every time I wear it I’ll think about you. Which I do all the time anyway, but still.”

David smiled. He leaned in and kissed Patrick. Then he remembered the most important thing.

“Do _not_ put that in the washing machine. I _will_ break up with you if you destroy cashmere.”

“No you won’t. Now come here and make out with me. The back seat of my car doesn’t have nearly this much room.”

A little while later, Patrick brushed David’s sweaty hair out of his face and smiled at him.

“I have a present for you too.”

“It’s _your_ birthday.”

“Yeah, well, I asked my mom about the bird thing, and she told me all about where she got it. So here.”

He reached into the front seat for his jacket and took a small box out of the pocket.

David opened it. Inside, cushioned with balled-up newspaper, was the bluebird figurine from the Brewers’ house.

“It’s just like your mom’s.”

“It _is_ my mom’s,” said Patrick, smiling. “She said she bought it eons ago from an artist at some street fair in Toronto because she thought it was funny. My dad apparently hates it.” He laughed. “She wanted to keep it until she met someone besides herself who ‘got it,’ and when I told her you liked it she was so excited and insisted I give it to you.”

David made a sort of sniffing noise.

“Are you gonna cry, pumpkin?”

“Shut up. No. And that’s not my nickname.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Tabarnak_ is a French Canadian curse word. [Quebecois profanity](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quebec_French_profanity) is hilarious and amazing. I recommend looking into it if you aren’t familiar. I have no explanation for why Patrick, who is not a native French speaker, would curse in Quebecois, but my weird American brain thinks it's sexy, so he does.
> 
> Gulab jamun is fried balls of special dough in rose/saffron sugar syrup. Also recommended! I've never made it myself, but if I were to try, I'd go with [this Serious Eats recipe](https://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2020/11/gulab-jamun.html), because it's a very science-y thing.
> 
> There is one chapter to go. I'll post it tomorrow.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. I thought this would be seven or eight chapters when I started. I very much hope that even a small percentage of you have enjoyed reading it, and if even one person was touched by it, it will have been worth it. I have loved writing this. It’s something I didn’t know I was able to do. Thank you. I know I said it before, but I love you awesome nerds.

The weather finally started to get a little warmer, but still Patrick wore his new sweater to school _all the time._ Even Stevie, whose taste in clothes ran the gamut from _who cares_ to _does this smell okay,_ noticed.

She and David sat outside together at lunch on the one-hundred-fiftieth day of school.

“You’ve been a hard man to find lately, Rose.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m a terrible friend, but if it’s any consolation I am an _excellent_ boyfriend.”

“That was not my experience. But I guess I’m happy for you.”

“You’ll be seeing more of me now that it’s _baseball season_ or whatever.”

“Did he make the team?”

“Of course he made the team. I think _you_ could make that team.”

“I’ll have you know I was a hell of a softball player in middle school. Just because you weren’t here to see it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“So why don’t you play now?”

“In grade nine I did. But not anymore. They take it _really_ seriously, and I try not to do that. Take things really seriously.”

David laughed. “I’ve missed you, Budd.”

Patrick came over, as though to join them, but apparently saw that David and Stevie needed some time alone. After a quick hello, he went to sit with some people from the baseball team.

Stevie watched him leave, then raised her eyebrows at David.

He wears that sweater a lot.

Shut up. I gave it to him, and he loves me.

It’s a shame people that insane are allowed to roam free.

When he got home after school, David sat down with the calendar on his phone so he could put Patrick’s baseball games in. He had no plans to _go_ to baseball games—maybe one or two, if Patrick made it worth his while—but he needed to make sure he didn’t plan anything his boyfriend wouldn’t be able to do.

The next game was the last day of March. Why did that ring a bell somewhere in his mind?

He tried to put it aside and put in the next game. April 3.

_April._

He remembered what it was.

_NYU acceptance letters. April 1._

They’d know in just a couple of days whether Patrick had gotten in. How had he let this day get so close?

What if Patrick hadn’t gotten accepted? Of course the decisions were already made, and the letter was probably printed and just sitting in a post office somewhere, just tormenting them.

He hated the idea of leaving here by himself. Back in the fall, when he’d applied, before his life had changed so much, _again,_ leaving Schitt’s Creek for New York had seemed like the simplest, most sensible plan in the world. Goodbye to living in a motel (and hello, probably, to living in an equally small dorm room, but whatever). Goodbye to knowing that everyone he passed in the halls at school or on the street knew exactly who he was. Goodbye to only one restaurant in town, and one that closed so early, goodbye to people who’d never been _anywhere,_ goodbye to this brief chapter in his life that had nothing good attached to it.

Now, everything was different. He had what felt like a life here, just because of one person. He’d even been thinking about coming _back_ here after college.

That one little idea he’d had when he saw the label on the fig jam at the Brewers’ house was still floating around in his head. A place where you could get all sorts of cool local products without having to figure out who sold what, and where.

The kind of place one person with a degree in design or marketing and one person with a degree in business could actually make happen. Together.

It was starting to be a real idea.

“Would you like to go on a picnic with me this weekend?”

David wasn’t completely on board, but it was hard to say no to Patrick. “I guess so?”

“Come on, there must be _some_ enthusiasm in there. It’ll be fun. There’s a place we can go that has an amazing view, and it’s a pretty easy hike—”

_“Hike?!”_

“An _easy_ hike. Nothing you can’t handle. I promise!”

“Will there be cheese?”

Patrick shook his head fondly, but he did say yes. “Yes, David. There will be cheese.”

Saturday morning, Patrick picked David up at the motel in his— _his_ —car, and they drove to what felt like a random spot in the woods.

“What are we doing?”

“We’re here.”

“I just sort of feel like picnicking by the side of the road is basically an invitation to be murdered.”

“I told you there’s a hike. You’re gonna love this.”

“Will I?”

“Let’s go, David.”

The hike was easy. Sort of. Patrick stepped on a thorny branch, and David had to _carry_ him for a little while, but the trail did, in fact, let out onto a beautiful view, and they found themselves in a place that made it feel like they were alone in the world, looking over a valley starting to sparkle with the colors of springtime. Birds were singing in the trees, welcoming the warm weather and the promise of a new beginning.

David knew it was a gorgeous spot, but he decided he needed to err on the side of restraint, in case Patrick took his enthusiasm to mean he wanted to go hiking more often.

“So this is nice.”

“I wouldn’t have made you hike all this way if I didn’t think it would be worth it. I know you a little better than that.”

“I am not loving how close we are to the actual _edge_ of an actual _cliff,_ but you were right. It’s beautiful up here. It reminds me of something.”

“What’s that?”

David shook his head in disbelief that he was going to admit this.

“When I met you, and especially when I first kissed you, I felt like I was falling. I mean, the saying is _falling in love,_ but it was _literal,_ you know?” Patrick nodded. “I dreamed about it too, the first time I slept in your bed. It was like I finally knew which way to fall so I could just _fly._ ”

Patrick beamed and put his arms around David’s waist. “That’s exactly it. Knowing which way to fall.”

They ate their picnic, and drank the champagne Patrick had somehow brought, which was lovely, and just as David was starting to feel like it was time to pack up and go home, he realized Patrick was very still next to him, holding out a box.

David took it. It wasn’t a ring box, it was much larger, and also a ring box would have been insane. It was shallow, about the size of a small notebook. Like the necklace box in _Pretty Woman._

“Did you get me the necklace from _Pretty Woman?_ ”

Patrick laughed, which was the best sound in the world, and then his eyes went soft, which David loved. So he just stared.

“David.”

David just stared.

“I know that no one meets the love of their life when they’re seventeen years old. I know—“

“Some—“

“Shh. Let me say things.”

David nodded. He could feel his face moving in a complicated mix of terror and anticipation and joy.

“A very small percentage of people—“

“Better.”

“—meet the love of their life when they’re seventeen years old. I don’t know if I got lucky, _so_ lucky, if I’m being a foolish kid like I’m sure anyone would say if we asked, but it doesn’t matter.”

Patrick took a deep breath and gestured for David to open the box.

“What matters is that right now, and as far as I can see in the future so far, I love you. And I want to ask you to make a deal with me.”

David was staring into the box. The first thing he saw was bright yellow. A MetroCard. Was this bon-voyage gifts for New York? David didn’t want to be reminded he was leaving.

No. Wait.

_Two_ MetroCards.

_Oh._

_Two_ tickets to the musical _Tina_ for the following October. _Two_ tickets to the Circle Line boat tour. And underneath them all, a letter on New York University/Stern School of Business letterhead, congratulating Patrick Brewer on his admission.

_Oh, yes._

“You got in.”

“I got in, and that’s where I’m going.”

“Are you sure?”

Patrick nodded and grinned. “Easiest decision of my life.”

“What’s the deal you’re ... proposing?” David winced at his own choice of word, but Patrick was still smiling.

“I’m _proposing_ that I’m going to move to a city I’ve only visited once, partly because _you_ love it, and I’m going to trust you to keep me safe and show me around and make _me_ love it too. I’m going to get a degree in what they call ‘business, technology, and entrepreneurship,’ and you’re going to get a degree in design, or _whatever you want,_ and maybe we’ll be able to live together there and maybe not, but we’ll be there together, and when we graduate...” He paused and took a deep breath.

David knew why. Patrick was thinking _years_ into the future, and David was _here for it._ He put the box down and took Patrick’s hands.

“When we graduate—”

“It’s a yes, I love you.”

“You don’t know what it is yet!”

“Okay, okay. What is it?”

“When we graduate, I think I want to come back here. Then I want to start our own business, and maybe you’re in charge of what we do with it and I’m in charge of how we earn a living at it, and maybe we get married, and maybe we get a happy ending.”

And then Patrick’s arms were around him, and he held him as tightly as he could, and David kissed him through the happiest tears of his life. And the hike and the dirt and the sharp sticks were forgotten, and all he could think was that these words from Patrick were the best sound in the world. And all he could think to say was,

“What do you mean, _maybe?_ ”

And Patrick kissed him, at the actual edge of an actual cliff, where no one could see them but the birds. And the birds knew they weren’t the only ones who had figured out how to fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If one line sums up how I want you to feel at the end of this, it’s this line from [Noah’s song _Honesty:_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qHifx9vEhY0)
> 
> _I want you to promise me the way this feels right now is how it’s gonna always be_


End file.
